Chasing My Damage
by loftylovexx
Summary: A darker take on what happened when Daryl & Beth ended up at the funeral home. Old demons emerge for Daryl. More chapters to follow. DarylxBeth. Trigger warning for inevitable language, abuse, rape, etc.
1. Chapter 1

AN: This isn't a typical Bethyl. I'm trigger warning up front for the impending language, rape, abuse, etc. It's not the nicest take on the dynamic or the most Daryl-friendly. Don't burn me at a stake, I love him like the rest of you, I just wanted to go down a path of exploring what Daryl darkness could look like. If you can take it with a grain of salt and accept the idea of him as more of an antihero, then here you go. Hope you enjoy.

Now, if you're still here, I'll frame the backdrop a little. Some dialogue is loosely based on the show, and the setting is more solidly based on the show, except there will be more time together before Beth is kidnapped (mostly, a week or so at the funeral home). Also, none of that "yer" nonsense. Daryl enunciates decently enough, y'all. We Southerners just have a twang. ;)

Chasing My Damage

Part One, Night:

He'd hung on to a few bottles of the moonshine. It wasn't smart, and he knew better, but he had. Beth hadn't seen him do it. But he felt her suspicion when she'd excuse herself at night from the parlor of the funeral home after a few of his visits outside to 'check the perimeter'. It was a lousy excuse, moonshine stunk on the drinker even if they did quickly swig it from contraband bottles hidden under porches.

So as he wandered outside for a sixth time this particular night, he didn't bother to grab the bottle covertly and hide around the corner of the house to drink it. She'd meekly hidden herself up in her makeshift bedroom an hour ago. He sat down hard on the porch steps and loudly uncorked it. His fingers and the edges of his vision buzzed as he threw the bottle back and let the acidic-tasting drink slosh down his throat. It felt like liquid anger coursing out from his gut to his veins to his head.

"About a fifth?" he spoke to the empty graveyard and the loud cicadas.

Yeah, that sounded right. That was about how much he was in tonight. And what was his limit? He pseudo-ran numbers in his head, recalling his years of following Merle around and getting fucked up and doing fuck all. What was the area between numb and thoughtless? He'd spent years trying to perfect the art of getting fucked up just to a forgetful oblivion, and not letting himself get to the angry, belligerent, violent place his father and brother called their vacation home.

Daryl took another long swig. His thinking fanned out even more. He felt less inhibited by the limits of his body and all the walker, end-of-world bullshit. He'd inherited a lot from his family, other than just their alcoholic rage. He also wasn't much of a homebody. He already felt caged by Beth's quiet judgment and the four walls of the funeral home. His brother and father were right, animals were animals. He was a born Dixon, a hell-raiser.

He grinned at this and stood. Nearby an axe sat knocked in an old stump. Daryl walked over to it and hefted it up. Experimentally, he brought it back down on the stump. The crack of metal to wood was satisfying. But, he wanted more. Daryl picked his moonshine bottle up from beside himself and chugged it for a good ten seconds. He cast his eyes around the yard until he spotted an unexplained stack of windows. Maybe the owner changed them out. Who knew? Who gave a shit?

Recorking and dropping the bottle to the ground, Daryl ambled over to the stack. He raised the axe and brought it down hard on the pile of windows. A few shattered, sending shards up at him in the process. He smiled at the sting on his arms and face. He picked up one of the windows and kicked through it with all his might.

"Daryl!...stop!," a voice hissed from above. Daryl wheeled around to look and saw a wide-eyed, terrified, and angry Beth sticking her head from her second story room. He narrowed his eyes and smirked.

She blinked and tested the waters again, using a soft and pleading voice, "Walkers will hear. Please come in. You're hurt".

Instead of speaking he lifted the axe again and brought it down loudly on another window. Beth sighed and looked away.

"Oh fuck off, you spoiled cunt. If something came, I'd deal with it. I always do. Fuck off and go to bed" he spat up at her.

Beth opened her mouth, but rethought. She instead slammed the window shut and disappeared.

He stood there in the yard a good ten minutes with nothing but the moonlight and the cicadas to keep him company. So, it'd came to a head. He'd yelled at her. No secrets here. He was a scary, angry redneck she was stuck hiding out with in the middle of nowhere. He imagined her scurrying over to her bedroom door and locking it. She'd lay down in her bed and shut her eyes tight, maybe pray to a god for a way out or wonder where her sister was.

A drunken, angry Daryl laughed at this. He stalked across the yard and threw the bottle back under the steps. He charged into the house and made his way towards the corpse preparation room. Something was stinging at the back of his throat. He unsheathed his knife and slammed the door behind himself. He looked at the stupid, dead corpse she had called beautiful. He didn't see anything worth value in a dead person turned into a doll. For what reason? So family could come see the body and remember the man? Make him up as a lie to help them grieve easier? What selfish bullshit was that?

Daryl posed his knife over the body. He could let the truth out. Shred her stupid doll. If she came back down here, she'd be forced to see the truth through all of her rose-colored, blonde airhead bullshit. He could be what she saw. Some feral dog that ended up surviving long enough to take up on the outskirts of an established group of 'decent' folks. Suddenly, Daryl felt pain. A lot of physical pain.

He dropped to his knees and slid back until his back was against the door. Staring up at the body, old cigarette burn scars itched and nipped at him. Long gone needle trackmarks from drugs his brother talked him into stung and rang on his forearms. He felt the scar on the back of his head where his father had busted it open when he'd knocked a pack of his old man's cigarettes in the dish water, destroying them.

No, that was dumb, it was just the pain from the glass cuts settling in on his drunk brain. His vision got watery and he felt himself directing his anger inward. He was going to cry like the little bitch he was.

"Oh, come on, the fuck are you doing?" he heard Merle say. His brother was standing over him, watching him with mirth on his lips.

Daryl didn't answer. He didn't answer ghosts.

"What you need is to bring it up now. You always were the worst at getting girly on the hooch. Light up your blood with something a little fast, baby brother" he said.

What he wouldn't give for a syringe or two of heroin. Hell, even a bowl of crystal or some melted Oxys would do the body good. Ghost or not, Merle was right. He needed to come up. Not be grounded down. Daryl let himself cry for what felt like half the night.

After a while, Daryl picked himself up and unlocked the door. He felt numb and hollowed out. He trudged his way to the viewing room and crawled inside the empty casket. He laid himself down and closed his eyes, falling asleep and trying to distance himself from everything the night had brought.

Part One, Day:

He woke up to something gently stroking his cheek, followed by a faint sting. He blinked his eyes open and squinted at the bright light filling the parlor. Beth stood over him, a rag with something aseptic-smelling on it in hand. She hesitantly withdrew her hand as his eyes opened.

"Hi…," she started, "I just wanted to clean the cuts. They look worse than they are when the blood's wiped away"

"Yea, uh, thanks, it's okay though" he answered, sitting up to face her. Beth moved back and turned away. Daryl felt a twinge of guilt and pain unrelated to his wounds and his hangover. It was as if she was afraid of him being to close to her while conscious. Daryl crawled out of the coffin and moved himself further way from her.

Beth turned back to face him, a new fake smile on her lips as she dove into pleasantries, "So are you hungry? There's not much but we could have oatmeal with water. We'll have to make a fire out back to warm it, but it could be decent. I've seen some berries nearby"

He paused before answering and looked at her, trying to meet her eye. Beth's expression dimmed a bit and she averted her eyes from his. Daryl sighed and played along, "Sure, yeah. That'll do. You start the mixing and grab the berries. I'll get things together and get the fire going".

Nodding, she almost ran from the room. Alone again, Daryl looked down at his arms. She was right, with the blood gone, the glass cuts weren't so bad. They'd scar interestingly. A story to get a girl or two in bed, Merle would say. Daryl went into the kitchen for an empty bottle to fill with rainwater from out back. At him entering the room, he felt a slight shift in Beth's demeanor. Her humming lessened. Her back seemed stiffer. He ignored this and left out the back door. He'd collected some wood and kindling on the first day to lessen the necessity of venturing to far from the house. Even though he was beginning to think Beth could hold her own, he wasn't sure what he'd do if something happened to her because he was too far away.

Absentmindedly and through a dull headache, Daryl went through the motions of starting and maintaining a fire. It was a pretty enough day out and all things considered it was a pretty location. Not long after, Beth came out with a giant pot. He moved away and allowed her to use the fire to warm the oatmeal. Daryl quietly smoked a cigarette and watched her from behind as she cooked. When it was done she took the pot and turned away, gesturing for him to follow her inside.

The two sat down at the table for breakfast. Each ate in relative silence with only trivial small talk in between. Beth commented on how she'd found a loom upstairs and how she'd always wanted to learn the basics of weaving. Daryl entertained the idea of looking in the woods later for some kind of protein for dinner.

After a while, the elephant got the best of him and Daryl spoke, "Beth, can we talk about last night?"

"I don't think we need to, nothing happened" she said quickly.

"Something did happen. I was a dick. You and I know I had no business doing what I did" he said.

Beth paused and seemed to consider her next words, "It's just. It's just, what the hell, Daryl? What were you thinking out there making so much noise?

"I was..," he started, almost saying drunk, "angry. A lot has happened. I guess I was trying to let off steam. I'm sorry. I really am, Beth"

"It's fine I suppose. Just, you can talk to me instead, you know? Instead of … doing other things" Beth finished testily. It was obvious she wanted to bring up him being drunk. But, once again, in the life of Daryl Dixon words were minced because he was a feral dog. You can't reason with a dog. You can't tell it not to be dangerous. You can only try to placate it.

He only grunted back in reply. Beth shrugged softly. She finished eating and went to get up. Daryl felt a twinge of guilt. He was making up for being a dick by being a dick.

"Beth, I-" he started. She paused, standing across from him at the table. She raised an eyebrow encouragingly, "I grew up hard. I wasn't around the best people and I've had to do things just to survive. I'm rough around the edges. Just in my blood"

Daryl glanced around the kitchen, looking for something to change the subject. He found nothing and resigned himself to looking down at the kitchen table.

"You know, when I tried to kill myself if was for a different reason than what it looked like. Yeah, teenage angst and all that, whatever. I know I'm spoiled and sheltered. But that isn't all I am, or it's not all I can be. I always sort of thought I'd come out of my shell when I left for college. I knew I'd never be able to measure up to Maggie and what she got into but I still knew I'd find my own quiet kind of liberation. Then everything with the walkers happened. I realized once the walkers became the norm that I thought I'd be what I've always been and nothing more" Beth said.

Daryl looked up at her, slightly puzzled by her sudden admission. "I don't know if I understand" he replied.

"What I'm trying to say Daryl is that you are never stuck with being one sort of way or one sort of thing. The only personthat pigeon-holds you is you. Maybe people will keep seeing you how they think you are or were or whatever but you're the only person you have to answer to at the end of the day" Beth stated.

He fought to stifle a smile. He didn't want to make her feel that he found her perspective cute and naïve, but it was almost comical that this girl half his age was attempting to give a grown man a 'pull yourself up by your boot straps' pep talk.

"Folks is folks, Beth. Some things are changeable and some are just how you are" Daryl answered.

"Sure, if that's what they want. You gotta want to change" Beth said, "I think you don't need to, you just have to see yourself better" she finished softly.

"I just had a bad night. I'm fine. Just my convict ways showing through" he said sardonically with a smirk. Beth sucked her teeth and threw a dish towel at him.

"Oh whatever" she laughed. And the conversation tapered off. The two went about their days. Daryl shelved the issue. He considered pouring out the rest of the moonshine as he gathered things for dinner, he doubted he'd follow through.


	2. Chapter 2

AN: To answer a question posed to me in a review, I'm not entirely sure. I've gone back and forth and how I want this story to end, we'll see. I doubt it'll go the regular route though.

Okay. So, this is a very dark and very rough chapter. The brunt of the reason for the M-rating is going to manifest here. If you're trigger-prone, please don't read. It's not a good light for Daryl, but with that one scene with their "Never Have I Ever" game I got vibes that an inebriated and affronted Daryl has the potential to be a very dangerous thing. Good people can do bad things and bad people can do good things, and all that.

Part Two, Night

True to his world, Daryl had found an opossum for them to have for dinner. Cleaning and cooking meat was more in his wheelhouse than Beth's, so he made the food. After eating, Beth sang some at the piano while Daryl smoked and stared out the window. They talked idly of what they planned to do and when they planned to venture out to look for the others.

The darker it got the more Daryl went out to 'check the perimeter'. Surprisingly, Beth stayed around. She continued playing the piano and singing random songs. Each time Daryl came back she looked at him hesitantly and curiously. The more he drank, the more his mind started to spread out again.

Daryl felt that he operated as something strung together tight with wire. Something bound and buried and packaged just so, so that he could be the quiet and aloof one in a group. If he opened his mouth, he felt he'd be found out. He figured people would see where he'd been and what he'd done and second guess his company. Being that way put a strain on a man. The alcohol loosened the knots and let the parts of him he'd picked up over the years come undone. So what if it wasn't pretty? It was him, he was the sum of those fucked up parts.

He stood facing the window and smoking as she played, thinking his thoughts. He turned back toward her and saw her profile. She was currently lost in her song and wasn't on guard toward him. He took the time and watched her for a good few minutes. Daryl considered Beth attractive, of course. She was a good bit younger than him , but young was rarely a bad thing, Merle would say. Most of the time, Daryl didn't see Beth like his drunk mind was letting him. She was too good to look his way, and he scared her enough, most of the time it was better to block out the part of him that saw her as a young woman.

But his mind unraveled and he didn't much care about logistics. Why not? He thought a lot of her. She might think so of him, too. He turned and walked out to the porch. He took the moonshine and downed more. He almost giggled. It was almost as if he was a nervous teenager, steeling himself to ask a pretty girl out.

Daryl came back into the house. Beth was between songs and looked up at him instantly. She gave him a curious look as he walked towards her, a smile still on his lips.

"So, Beth. I just think you should know," he slurred, "I think you're cute".

She frowned slightly. She seemed instantly uncomfortable.

"No,no, that's not the word. You're beautiful really. I don't know how you could see what you've seen and still think something's worth something. But you do, and I admire that I guess. I don't know what I expect me saying this to come to, I mean the world ain't the way it was, but I just don't know. I wanted you to know I felt that" he mumbled, almost incoherent.

"Daryl, I-," she started.

"I mean, I can't take you out nowhere. Where would we go, right? But maybe what I'm saying is I'd like to get to know you better " he finished.

Beth smiled meekly and stood. She stepped towards Daryl and took his hand in hers. He blinked and looked down, a bit taken aback at her approaching him. But there was something in her demeanor that didn't hit him right.

"You're drunk, Daryl" she said softly, "I don't know if you really mean what you say"

He frowned, "Yeah I do and no I'm not"

She shook her head gently, "It doesn't matter right now. We can talk more tomorrow. Maybe tonight you should turn in".

Daryl's insides went cold. He was being rejected. He froze, unable to speak. And the rejection was by Beth, so she was being as gentle as possible. Of course he'd be rejected. He was a dirty hick, twice her age. She was young and lovely. What the hell was he thinking? Beth smiled gently and released his hands. Her eyes wandered around the room, she seemed to be searching for something to change the subject.

"I think I'll turn in myself. It'd be nice to get an early start. I'd like to look for some more berries. Maybe some nuts or herbs or something. You never know, with the woods taking themselves back over, there could be neat things growing out there" she rambled.

"Yeah, yeah. Of course. Something new to eat, yeah" Daryl answered softly. He looked at the ground. The cold inside him had dimmed, but he still felt stung and numb.

Beth turned and darted around the room, blowing out candles as she went. Once almost all of them were out, Beth picked up two and turned towards Daryl. "Goodnight, yeah?"

"Yeah, sleep well" he managed.

"We'll talk tomorrow, Daryl. Sleep it off" Beth said, turning and heading up the stairs to her room. Alone again, Daryl felt the cold inside himself reignite and radiate out from his core. The room felt small and mean, like it was snickering at his stupidity. Daryl's vision was swimmy and sideways. His drunkness now felt like a huge burden. He couldn't reason, he couldn't reassure himself. It became hard to swallow. Merle would get a kick out of what just happened. His father would have given him a detailed list of why what just happened had happened. He wasn't strong enough. He was soft around th edges. He didn't amount to a pile of shit. If he was going to be so tender and weak, he might as well have been there to burn up in the house too with his crazy bitch of a mother. He felt tears prick that backs of his eyes.

He couldn't get rid of this progressive spiral to his thoughts, he just couldn't. He had two choices: drink more or lay down in his coffin bed and cry like a bitch. Daryl brought one arm roughly across his face, wiping away the start of his tears. No, he decided, he couldn't be alone with his head now. Daryl left the house in a hurry, grabbing a bottle from beneath the porch steps.

Daryl eyed the amount. About a fourth left. He uncorked the bottle and chugged the whole amount. The moonshine stung and burned as it went down. When the bottle ended he threw it under the steps. Not enough.

He grabbed another full bottle. Daryl uncorked it and chugged and chugged. Before he knew it, half the bottle was gone. His throat protested. His stomach lurched. Daryl came up for air and closed his eyes tightly.

Suddenly he felt an immense warmth spreading out from his center, melting his shame, banishing his thoughts.

"Oh, hello" he sighed, lovingly. Daryl put the bottle to his lips again and downed the rest of the bottle. The warmth reached his fingers and toes and cycled back through his body. He was a current of warmth and fuzz and confusion. He wanted more. Daryl leaned down and picked up the last bottle he had. He momentarily looked at it before uncorking it and throwing more back. He idly remembered he'd brought four bottles. The first one and three quarters had lasted him a while. He was making short order of the remaining two and a fourth.

Daryl laid back on the porch and closed his eyes again. He basked in the warmth, feeling the solid and reassuring wood of the porch underneath him. His mind buzzed and sang. He listened to the cicadas and the sound of the gentle summer night breeze rustling the trees. There was something beautiful about nowhere, he mused. He came from nowhere, he was nothing. This was where he belonged and he was okay with it. Lit up and lying in the night air.

The warmth in Daryl had banished all his numb coldness from Beth's rejection. His mind felt renewed. He felt as though maybe he wasn't so bad after all. He idly considered the night's events in this new light. He'd put his cards on the table, and frankly she'd snubbed him. Why? Hell, if he knew. Yeah, she came from that incestuous, yellow-bellied, middle class, religious family but she was just as rural and backwoods as him. Maggie was the one that had gotten out and gone off to some fancy college. Beth hadn't yet. She'd lived her whole spoiled life on that farm, even somehow survived the turning, and yet she still had the audacity to try to kill herself.

He sat up, remembering the time on her father's farm. She wanted to die, she wanted to live. She couldn't make her silly mind up. And now, he ends up with her after the prison shitstorm and she decides she wants to cut loose and drink for the first time with big bad Daryl.

He stood. Then, when he found her liquor, she insulted him. She thought he was some ex-convict. She just used him as part of her stupid teenage rebellion. That almost made him angry. Daryl noticed that the warmth in him had continued to increase. Hell, it was basically on fire now. He couldn't tell what he was feeling exactly.

Something else began to rise up inside Daryl. Something hot and dark. It slithered its way out and molded itself to his being. This thing wasn't Daryl. He felt himself submit to it, allowing it to use his muscles and bones. He stood. His convictions and his motives were not his own.

Damnit, he was a man. It was the end of the world. When was the last time he got laid? All work and no play. Everyone expected him to risk life and limb to protect the group. And then they did some shit like Beth had, insulting his character, pitying his advances. He was their attack dog. Keep it on a leash, use it as needed, then put it out back at a safe distance.

"No, fuck that" he said to the warm night air. He took one last swig of his moonshine. This time not to steel himself, but to fuel the new dark awareness that had come over him.

Daryl turned, purposefully and headed back into the house. He lit a cigarette and stood at the stairs leading to the second story. He smoked it long and slow. Near the cigarette's end, he'd decided and began climbing the stairs. He made his way up, and stood before Beth's door. He finished the cigarette and snubbed it out on the door.

He reached out and opened the door. His eyes adjusted sluggishly to the candle-lit room. She was there in her bed. Beth groggily awakened, she frowned lightly and looked at Daryl. She was confused. She had no idea.

"Something wrong?" she asked sleepily.

Not speaking, he strode widely across the room, staggering some with his drunkness. His mind was made. Whatever he decided for her after just depended. He was a born Dixon, after all.

Beth sat up, alarmed. It was almost cute how even in her growing panic she still had a hint of confusion in her demeanor. What was the guard dog doing? It didn't belong up here in its master's chambers.

With anger and force, Daryl leaned down, grabbed her by her wrists, and pushed her down as he crawled onto the bed. Beth was on full alarm now, her eyes were wide, her mouth open in a terrified O. He yanked the covers down angrily and straddled Beth, reclaiming her wrist and pinning her fully down on the bed. She wore some oversized t-shirt to bed, something he'd never seen.

"I don't-I, no. Daryl? What are you?" she blurted out, her breathing increased, a tinge of tears and fear in her voice.

He smiled a wicked and angry smile, it looked almost maniacal in the candle light. He leaned down close to Beth's face, putting his mouth by her ear. "I'm going to fuck you" he stated, his voice thick and hot with moonshine.

Beth made a small crying sound, her face screwed up. She writhed underneath his weight, "No, Daryl, please".

He took one hand and put it around her throat, squeezing slightly just to hear her cry out. He used his other hand to roughly pull up her shirt. Just seeing her bare stomach and legs sent a jolt through him. He wouldn't need much. He noticed he was almost ready. He put one hand between her legs and began coaxing her. Beth's eyes widened.

Daryl repositioned himself, still holding her down by the throat. Beth scratched uselessly at his hand and cried. He put himself between her legs. He was hard. He took his knife out of his belt and held it up to catch the light. Beth's cried harder and shut her eyes tightly. He stroked the knife down her stomach and her thighs, doubling back to push the blade under her underwear.

Swiftly he brought the blade up, slicing through her underwear. He pushed the remnants aside and forced two fingers deep inside her. Beth cried out and struggled against him. He brought his fingers in and out a few times. She was true to her nature, she was surely a virgin, and an extremely tight one at that.

"Daryl. Not like this, I don't, please" she squeaked out.

He ignored her plea and undid his pants. He was as hard as a rock now. Repositioning the two of them one last time he placed himself at her entrance. Her breathing his erratic now. Her crying loud and completely unchecked.

He savored the moment and held his breath. He tightened his grip around her throat, closing off her windpipe entirely. The dog would become the master. He pushed himself hard and deep inside her. He felt something deep inside her part and tear around him. It was complete euphoria.

Beth made an inhuman cry and used all her remaining might to recoil against him and push away. And then she broke entirely, her crying became ragged and painfully loud. Daryl put his free hand over her mouth and buried his head in her neck. He pounded away, completely forgetting who he was and where he was. He mercilessly claimed her over and over. She struggled and writhed like an animal being murdered.

When he came it was strong and it racked his entire body. He felt himself melt entirely. The hot angry heat dying out and funneling its way from his body. He saw light behind his eyes, he felt enshrouded in her scent and the feel of her skin.

Breathing raggedly and covered in sweat, Daryl released her throat and rolled over. His vision dimmed out and sleep took him, instantly.

Part Two, Day

Daryl awoke alone. The light was too bright. His eyes hurt. His head pounded and throbbed so much that he felt it was accompanied with a loud rhythmic thud in his head. He sat up uneasily and looked around the room with confusion.

He was in Beth's bed. His whole being went to ice. He broke out in a cold sweat. Why was he here? Where was Beth? He looked around the room wildly and saw a small crumpled frame on the floor by the bed. A thousand thoughts rushed at Daryl at once and he knew everything.

His stomach retched and bile rose to the back of his throat. She lay there, motionless save a small rise and fall of her back. He noted that there were bruises on her fair skin. And, with complete horror, he saw blood on the backs of her legs.

He swallowed hard, shoved the back of a fist into his mouth, bit down, and began to cry. He tried to do so quietly. What the hell had he done? Daryl laid back and ran his fingers through his hair. He pushed the palms of his hands hard into his eyes. He wanted to gouge them out. He wanted to undo everything he'd done.

A small shuffling sound came from the floor. Daryl tried to quell his crying and feign sleep. His breathing hitched with suppressed tears. A small weight appeared on the bed. He kept his eyes closed tight behind his palms.

Beth crawled into the bed next to him and balled up at his side. He heard her breathing hitch as well. She sniffled softly. He didn't think it was possible but hearing her crying made him feel even worse. He turned his shoulder away from her and began to sob uncontrollably. He couldn't keep himself quiet, he was entirely distraught.

Daryl felt small shaky arms encircle his back as Beth molded her small frame against his back. He felt her tears on his shirt as she buried her face in his back. He didn't understand why the fuck she was touching him. He didn't get why he didn't have a bullet through his skull. Why was she still here? Why was he still alive? Lord knows, he wanted to kill himself.

"Daryl" she said softly. Her voice was monotonous and low.

He cried on, unable to form words to answer her.

"I didn't want it like that" she stated evenly.

"I don't know why I-. I'm going. I'll leave. Right now. I'll fuck off and you'll never see me again. Or get rid of me, please, find the others, send them after me. Put me down" he replied through tears.

Beth had stopped crying, he felt her face leave his back. She moved away and put her hand on his shoulder, pulling him to face her.

"I didn't want it like that" she restated, "but….I've wanted to be with you"

Daryl watched her incredulously and she met his eyes with a hard fierce anger he'd never seen before. She continued, "Goddamnit, Daryl, you're not Merle. You're not Rick either. Or Glenn. Or Tyrese. Or anyone else in the group. And you're not a fucking violent drunken asshole".

"I don't understand" he spoke, his voice still shaky but his tears gone.

"You keep trying to be something you're not to avoid being something you think you are. You want to keep a distance from me and everyone else, but then get piss drunk and hit on me?" she stated.

"I'm sorry I- I'd never want to hurt you" he answered softly.

"Stop, Daryl. Just stop. You can't take it back. It happened. I liked you. I really did. I've had a crush on you for the longest. And you just get completely shitfaced and you…you" she said, trailing off. There was something changed in Beth. She was furious. She was strong and bold. Daryl felt a twinge of something inside him. He wanted to apologize a thousand times. He wanted to crawl on hands and knees through glass to atone to her.

"Beth, I…I.." he whimpered.

She reached out and grabbed Daryl by the back of his head, pulling his hair hard. She brought him close and kissed him hard. He could only kiss back, hesitantly. Afraid to touch her at all.

"I love you" he spat out when they separated.

Beth moved away from Daryl and sat up. She answered sadly, "I don't know, Daryl. And I don't know where we go from here. But I'm not where I was anymore, you saw to that"

She got up from the bed and stood, her back to Daryl, "Do not drink anymore or I will kill you. Stay here in the room as long as you like this morning, but don't ever come back in here again or I will kill you" she stated.

Daryl felt cold and hollowed out. Her words stung him.

"I think it's also best we keep a civil distance for a time" she said. Beth left the room.

Daryl laid there, he felt like some hole had been poked him and something critical was seeping out of him. It was as though he was losing blood and a panicked and throbbing feeling of vasculature going dry was spreading from the source of the wound to the rest of his body. What the hell was he going to do? What the hell HAD he done? He'd never forced a woman in his life. Sure, he'd slept with some wasted girls that probably regretted him in the morning. But he'd never hold someone down. Not in his right mind.

"That was about the dumbest thing you have ever done, baby bro" Merle snarked from across the room.

Daryl closed his eyes tight. "This shit again…" he growled s through clenched teeth. There was a new development. Hallucinating sober and without being in any life-threatening danger. He was losing his mind. He stood up and moved to the door. His mind started turning and making a list of things to gather.

"Don't get me wrong, sometimes stuck-up bitches need a good lesson. But her? The group baby? Should give her over to the walkers asap. They'll kill you on sight if you run into those losers from the prison" Merle chided.

He didn't respond, he left the room and paused, looking down the stairs sheepishly. He listened a good few minutes before he decided Beth must have left the house. Normally he'd have groaned and gone out to find her, tell her to let him know where she is and what she's doing if she insisted on going out there alone. Today he didn't deserve to be within 100 yards of her. He started down the stairs, noting that Merle followed.

Moving half-heartedly around the funeral home, Daryl gathered up provisions and packed up the sparse amount of things he called his. He left all the food behind. He'd eat off the land. He barely considered what he might need because he had no plan.

"She doesn't need all that food. Take something, you're putting a lot of trust in finding food" Merle chided.

Again, no response from Daryl. He made on last quick survey of the house as he stood with his hand on the front door. The little poked hole in him emptied out the very last bit of that critical something as his eyes rested on the piano. He felt he'd never be able to take another step or move another muscle in his life. He'd live and die staring at the piano and being hollowed out with his inner workings continuing their throbbing and crying out over their complete dehydration.

Eventually he did, and he left. He didn't see her immediately around the funeral home or in the graveyard. He wanted so badly to find her and tell her to at least go back, he would leave, stay safe at the house. Regardless, Daryl left, with hallucination Merle in tow. He didn't look up from the ground until he was half a mile from the home and reentering the wood. He stopped and glanced back toward the house from the border between forest and field.

Beth was standing on the porch, watching him. He was too far away to make out her expression.

Merle looked off at her and then looked back at Daryl, "Oh fuck her and all those yuppie fucks. You got me. We're who we are, we're cut from the same cloth"

Daryl turned back toward the forest and started walking, "Yeah, I guess so"


	3. Chapter 3

AN: Thanks for all the reviews and follows. I'm going to try to stay regular with updating this but I can't say for sure how often or when chapters will come up. I'm a traveling nurse in her early 20's so I work an erratic schedule. But, with the interest shown, I promise to keep this going to the best of my ability.

Part Three, Night

Daryl had been walking probably four or so hours in no particular direction, other than away from Beth. Merle followed along the whole way, making useless comments here and there. As the day wore on and the sun moved across the sky, Daryl began having random internal debates regarding what his exact plans were.

Initially, he decided that Beth was best left with as much distance between them as he could manage. Then he began to think about walkers. He knew she could manage a few, maybe even a group. But he'd only seen Beth defend herself in the company of others. He wasn't sure how she'd fare on her own with a large group. With these thoughts, he began to deviate from his path and started to go sideways.

Eventually, Daryl considered the possibility that other people might find Beth. Could be a good thing, assuming they were good people. But he knew those were a rare thing to find anymore. Then the idea that a group of rogue men might come across her.

To add to Daryl's discomfort of his sidekick ghost brother, it seemed he could read his mind as well as talk to him. After the thought of Beth meeting up with unsavory men, Merle chuckled and said, "Oh, she wouldn't fetch for much. Not a virgin no more. Dunno why you'd care no how. You already had that piece, don't be greedy"

"Shut up" he grumbled.

"I reckon she's a fine enough piece though. Pretty thing- young, alone, probably getting scared and nervous. It'd be like cat nip. I wouldn't mind getting in the line myself for a run at that" Merle said.

Daryl stopped walking and faced Merle. "You shut the fuck up. I don't care if you ain't real, I'll slit your fucking throat myself" he hissed.

Merle put his hands up and smiled, "If I didn't know no better I'd think you fell for that little girl. Half your age, too. You make me proud"

Daryl ignored this and walked around Merle, heading back in the direction of Beth and the funeral home. He backtracked another two hours without any concrete plan, seething in hatred for his ghost-brother's callousness and, ultimately and honestly, for himself.

He weighed his options as the day went from afternoon, to late afternoon, to almost dusk. There was no way in hell he was walking back up to the funeral home. But he also resolved that he could not leave Beth to her own defenses with no one to help her. After a while, he decided the best course of action was to keep a distance from Beth while protecting her from afar. He would keep to the edges of the forest, circling the funeral home and picking off walkers and turning anyone that ventured that way in another direction. He'd move with her, when the time came that she left the funeral home, and he'd keep a radius around her and protect her. If and when she ran into anyone from Rick's group he'd give himself over to them. Maybe they'd kill him, maybe he'd go free. Either way, he wanted to allow the option. He wanted to give her some closure if he could.

Daryl set up a camp at the forest's edge, in a heavily wooded patch to hide himself in case she was scanning the forest edge. He didn't want her to think he was lurking and sulking and watching her. He found some acorns and plants he recognized as edible and chewed them unenthusiastically. Merle sat near him and watched him.

"It's nice being back together, little brother. Like old times. I say we blow this idiot plan of yours and see what trouble we can get into down the road" Merle suggested.

"I ain't going nowhere" Daryl answered.

"Suit yourself, man. Guess I'm along for the ride then," Merle shrugged. He leaned back and laid against a nearby stump, "you take first watch, I'm getting some shut eye".

Daryl snickered. Did that mean he'd get some peace and quiet from this delusional manifestation of the shitty side of himself? Not wanting to start ghost-Merle back up he remained silent until his brother's shape stilled completely and his breathing slowed. Daryl took the chance to look hard at Merle. It was morbidly fascinating how deeply and how vividly his own burgeoning insanity was developing. If he really knew no better he'd think it was his big brother right there in the flesh.

Weary of his continuous mental cycle of reliving the past godawful 24 hours, Daryl turned his thoughts towards Merle and his own history. For all his evil and his self-serving bullshit, he knew his big brother loved him. It was probably his only redeeming quality. He'd protected Daryl as much as he could, when he was around. He used to get so angry at Merle for not being around as he'd spent his time crying over some new set of wounds his father had laid on him. But, at the same time, whenever Merle got out of wherever had him locked up or indisposed, Daryl felt some rebellious awe towards his brother. Merle always met their father's rage with his own matched rage. Daryl had wanted to cultivate that confidence and rage, to survive. So, he'd followed his brother for years. Merle's ever-reluctant but participating shadow in various debauchery and scams.

"Weren't nothing gonna change you though. Even after all the walker shit started up. You just couldn't adapt, couldn't let Pop be dead" Daryl said to his brother's sleeping form.

Merle didn't reply, of course. That part of Daryl's brain had gone to sleep. He sighed deeply. He sunk down and rested again the trunk of a tree. Daryl sat and watched the funeral home as the night got darker. Every hour or so, he walked a circle around the funeral home, killing a couple walkers as he went.

As the night began to ebb off and the sky lightened, he saw Beth emerge from the house. She moved slowly and delicately through the field. Every now and then she bent to pick up something, probably foraging. He doubted she had much of an appetite either. He wondered momentarily why she wouldn't just eat some of the house food. She looked small and lithe moving through the early morning fog and dew. She was beautiful and fae in some dingy nightgown, walking among the gravestones like a ghost. He winced as it occurred to him that her strange gait was due to her being injured. After a while, Beth looked up and scanned the edge of the field where it met the forest. She brushed her forearm across her face a few times. She was crying. Crying and looking for him, for better or for worse.

Daryl felt nauseated and small. He looked away and made one last circle around the funeral home. He sat back down at the tree near where Merle snored without a care in the world. Daryl was tired to his bones, probably down to his soul. He watched absentmindedly as the fog lifted and the air grew warmer as the sun came up. He didn't think he'd ever felt worse in his life. Without realizing it, Daryl eventually fell asleep.

Part Three, Day

Daryl was over Beth. He felt the ecstasy of pinning her down, relished the feel of her writhing against him. Her panicked cries and whimpers excited him. His hand was around her throat and he periodically squeezed to hear her almost animal-like gasps for air. He continued his assault on her, enjoying her increasing distress.

But he wanted more. He tightened his grip more on her throat. Her cries became higher and her eyes began to widen. Daryl brought his other hand to her throat and squeezed with all his might. Beth's eyes bulged and she began clawing at his arms, desperately. He felt sparks on pain as she drew blood, tearing at his flesh.

And then, he twisted both hands in opposite directions. Daryl heard a faint crunch of vertebrae grinding against one other. Beth's voice cut off midway through a scream. Her eyes became incredibly vivid and watery before dimming and glassing entirely. Her fingers arched and slacked.

Daryl moved away from her instantly. His realization dawning as though he'd been violently awakened. He began to scream. He grabbed at her limp body, gathering her up to him in an embrace. His screams turned to sobs, wracking him body. He was short of breath, he was choking on his cries.

The door of the room crashed open. He looked up and it took him a second to register his surroundings. He was in Merle's old bedroom. He was kneeling on the floor. He was so small. His face was wet with tears and his nose was running. His heart rate accelerated at the site of the figure in the doorway, his blood sang in his ears, his fingers and toes went numb. In his arms was something small and delicate and his father stood staring at him, his eyes blazing.

"The fuck are you two doing in here?! The fuck's all the racket?!" his father roared.

An even and eerily stoic voice answered from behind Daryl. Merle sat on the bed, "The little fucker shit my bed. I rang its neck"

"The fucking cat?" his father yelled.

"Yeah. So what?" Merle answered. Daryl sobbed on, clutching the dead kitten to his chest.

"Don't do that shit in my house, you little dickwad. Daryl quit your pussy-ass blubbering" his father bellowed. Daryl stifled himself as much as he could manage, suddenly aware he was a small thing between two monsters.

His father raised his arm and Daryl noticed with horror that he had The Rod. The thin metal rod that hurt so badly he couldn't sleep after he saw it. Merle rose from the bed, as if to meet his challenge. The two men stared at each other, both on defense.

"Out, Daryl. Out. Fucking. Now" his father said slowly. Daryl scrambled and darted out the room. The door slammed behind him immediately. And then he heard the sounds. Like they were killing each other, like only one of them would ever leave the room again. Daryl ran from the house. He hid beneath the rusty porch. He clamped his hands over his ears and hoped they would forget he existed. He stared down at the dead cat. Why had Merle brought it in if he was just going to kill it? Why hadn't Daryl let it out the house when he had seen what it had done? He grew hotter and hotter. He was covered in sweat; he realized his was going to burn up and die under the porch.

Daryl opened his eyes and gasped. It was late midday. His neck hurt from his positon propped up against the tree. He heard bugs buzzing and the sounds of the forest around him. He stood up too fast and his vision swam, threatening to double him over in a faint. His eyes adjusted and he looked across the field to the funeral home. No sign that anything had changed. He put his hand against the tree to brace himself and closed his eyes. He focused on slowing his breath, focused on pulling himself out of his dream panic.

When he had calmed himself some, he opened his eyes and looked to the ground near the tree. Merle was no longer by the stump.


	4. Chapter 4

AN: Sorry, it's been quite a while since I've updated this. I've been busy with starting a new nursing position. I'm more grounded now, traveling less, so I hope to be more regular with updating. If you're still reading this story, thanks for bearing with me.

Part Four, Night

He'd been at it for days and days now. The sun had come and gone several times. He continued to watch Beth from a distance. Daryl even tracked her when she ventured out into the forest for hunting. He was proud of how much she seemed to have grown. Beth had managed to become very self-sufficient. Daryl idly wondered on occasion when and if she planned to leave the funeral home. Surely she wanted to find her sister and the rest of the group. He couldn't be sure of what she did inside the home. Maybe she was gathering supplies, planning a course.

Every now and then he saw Beth take pause and look all around herself. She'd look in all directions when in the forest, looking as though she wanted to call out. She would stand on the porch of the funeral home and scan the edge of the forest. He couldn't be sure if she was just looking for anyone or if she was looking for hm. He didn't know which he wanted to be true.

Merle's visits became less during the day, which gave Daryl a measure of relief, but he remained his constant companion at night. Tonight was no different. The sun had set a couple hours ago by Daryl's estimate, and just like clockwork Merle wandered out from the woods, smirking at Daryl.

"How goes it? Any food?" Merle asked conversationally, as though he'd been with Daryl all day and was returning from a stroll.

Daryl didn't answer. He absentmindedly messed with his crossbow, halfway cleaning it. He'd settled on the edge of the woods as he had been, keeping a visual of the funeral home. Merle came over to stand over Daryl.

"Not in a talking mood tonight huh?" he teased.

"Leave me alone. You aren't here" Daryl said gruffly.

Merle gestured to himself incredulously. "Well, damn, coulda fooled me. Sure feels like I'm here to me"

Daryl didn't reply. Merle shrugged and sat down hard near him. "What we need is a good fire. Get some shit to cook. A fat deer would be nice. Some hooch or blow for dessert"

Daryl grunted at Merle. He'd been relying on nuts and berries for food lately. A fire was out of the question, he didn't want to spook Beth with the light. But he wasn't all that concerned that his conscious/ghost-brother would be able to start any fire. Merle rolled him eyes and lowered himself further on the ground, moving to a lying position.]

"I'm getting some shut-eye. You'd be half smart to do the same" Merle said, rolling away from him. Daryl put his crossbow down and glanced toward the funeral home. He saw some faint movement on the porch and focused his attention on the area. Beth was moving things around on the porch, arranging what looked like bags from a distance. Maybe she was planning to leave. He hoped she had the sense to wait for dawn. Beth continued her task for about ten more minutes until she'd put roughly five bags on the porch. Once she stopped, she walked slowly to the steps. She craned her neck and scanned the edge of the forest. Daryl studied her, wondering what she was up to. It was as though she was considering something.

Beth leaned down to fish something out of one of the packs. She stood back up and put binoculars to her eyes. Before he could manage to react, she scanned the perimeter and stopped facing Daryl. He froze. If she'd seen him, she'd seen him. Moving now would change nothing. Beth stood looking in his direction for several moments before she removed the binoculars. Her expression was unreadable.

Daryl held his breath. He didn't know what to expect. He couldn't be sure she'd seen him, but he felt she had. He wasn't sure what reaction he hoped to see if she had. Beth put the binoculars back in the bag. To Daryl's surprise and confusion, she wiped her forearm across her eyes. Was she crying? Beth wrapped her arms around herself and hugged herself lightly. She dipped her head slightly in a half-nod and turned. Without further, she went back inside the funeral home.

He let his breath out in a long sigh. He stood abruptly. He didn't want to dwell on what had just happened. He decided to patrol the perimeter one last time for the night. He hadn't managed to sleep during the day, nor the night before. Coupled with his lack of substantial food, Daryl felt and overwhelming fatigue throughout his body.

The patrol proved to be uneventful and walker-free, something Daryl was grateful for. He didn't allow himself to consider what might happen if he'd encountered any walkers. He was tired. He felt sloppy. His senses seemed dulled, his reactions slowed. He wasn't totally sure he could handle more than one walker at time.

Once his patrol circle was complete, Daryl collapsed dramatically near Merle. He rolled onto his back and stared up at the night sky. As his mind shut down for sleep, he idly wondered why he chose to settle near his brother mirage. It didn't matter one way or the other, but he worried that he may be subconsciously becoming receptive to his own hallucinations. He weighed the consequences of his observation and made a small, silly unaddressed prayer for a dreamless night as he fell asleep.

His prayer went unanswered. Daryl was sitting in the cramped backseat of his brother's beaten up four-door pickup. In front, Merle argued jokingly with some guy about something political that neither of them seemed very well-versed in. As he usually did, Daryl sat silently, awaiting his cues.

Daryl couldn't recall the name of the guy, although they'd met him a few hours ago at a bar. The guy sat up in his seat to maneuver a cigarette box out of his pocket. He shook a cigarette and a sparse joint out of the box. Daryl smirked and named him Doobie Passenger in his head, something he liked to do for fun.

"-either way you wanna slice it, they're all of them a bunch of figurehead drones. Politicians don't give a fuck about me, you, and little Joe Blow down the street. The land ought to be something we take back. We took it once. We can take it again, get it back from the drones and all them different kinds of weirdo ooga-booga coloreds" Doobie Passenger finished windily, lighting up both simultaneously. He took a long, exaggerated drag off the joint, held it in, and passed it over to Merle.

"Now, brother, that's the problem right there. It ain't that cut and dry. Anarchy and the like is only good on paper. If you turn on the man and us regular folk become the man, we'll start turning on each other," Merle retorted, pausing to take a drag off the joint, finishing his thought with a strained and held breath "which could be fun, don't get me wrong. But won't be no clean resolution with that either. Just a lot of violence bullshit that'll lead to more violence bullshit. You, me and, ol' Blow would probably wind up dead by midgame once new 'peace-loving' windbag leaders rise up with their little tribes of yes-man followers. A smart man has others to do his bidding. Only little kids on playgrounds think of just taking their toys back themselves"

Merle passed the joint to Daryl. He followed suit, taking a very deep drag and filling up his lungs. He felt the immediate, familiar sting and desire to cough. He stifled the urge, deciding the next pass he'd only pretend to inhale. He was a cheap date with weed. Or he just knew how to maximize his first hit. He passed Doobie Passenger his joint back.

The man squinted his face momentarily at Merle's use of the word "anarchy" and his implication of childishness. One thing Daryl could always credit Merle with was his ability to read people and find what would most piss them off. Doobie Passenger didn't like to be talked down to, not one bit, even with Merle's playful tone.

"No fuck that. You're out of your damned mind. Pussies think like that. If I want something, I take it. Ain't no fucking child thing, it's what a man does" Doobie Passenger said, raising his voice. He went quiet for several minutes and finished off his joint, without offering it again.

Merle smiled and shrugged, "Hey agree to disagree, man"

"How far is this strip joint?" Dobbie Passenger said, his tone short. The mood of the truck had changed, Doobie Passenger was sick of his present company.

"Not long. Just need to have a pit stop. Gotta piss something fierce" Merle answered. He abruptly pulled off to the shoulder. They were nowhere particular. A stretch of backwoods between small towns. No cars in sight, it was a rarely used road. Not a happy coincidence, just something they'd planned out, as per usual. Merle killed the engine, throwing the door open.

"Jesus fuck, dude. You can't hold your shit a few more minutes?" Doobie Passenger said.

" 'Fraid not. Afflicted with that prostate condition. Bathrooms at this place can attract the occasional butt monkey anyways. There's good stuff on stage, but they're only there for the audience, if you get my drift. You'd be smart to relieve yourself as well if you have the inclination" Merle answered, hopping out the truck and disappearing around the back.

"The hell kind of place is that then? Y'all some fucking losers" Doobie Passenger scoffed angrily. He opened and kicked the passenger door. Jumping out, he walked around to the front. Daryl took the time to reach down to the floorboard, where his metal pipe waited on him.

In a fluid and almost choreographed minute and a half, Merle came swiftly around the back corner of the truck and landed a heavy blow to the back of Doobie Passenger's skull with his own pipe. Daryl slid over and came out the opposite side door of the truck. He was instantly around the truck and landing the second blow to Doobie's face, he felt he crunch of the man's nose vibrate through the pipe. Merle followed with a gut blow, Daryl with a knee blow, Merle to the other knee, Daryl to one foot, and Merle with one last blow to the remaining foot. And as sure as he was rattling off politics not five minutes before, Doobie laid incapacitated and gurgling on blood the next. The man rolled weakly back and forth, making guttural noises of pain. Merle bent down and frisked him quickly, taking his wallet and his box of cigarettes. Daryl yanked his watch off.

Merle bent down over the man, smiling. "I did say it'd be fun, the dog-eat-dog. Just not constructive. Also, it's really not all that polite to start a joint in rotation and not finish it. Take care, brother, have a good rest of your night" he said, mock-tipping an imaginary hat. They got back in the truck. They drove off.

Daryl rummaged through the wallet. He removed what he wanted, the money. The cards he left, the liability wasn't worth it. Merle had spotted his liquid potential back at the bar as Doobie opened his tab. Merle got into his front pocket and produced a few ecstasy tabs. He swallowed a couple and passed the others to Daryl. Dutifully, he downed his pills too. Wiping the wallet clean of his prints, Daryl rolled down the window and carefully threw it out. "Only 78. A couple twenties, several fives, and a bunch of ones"

"Oh well, beggars can't be choosers. The strippers will be happy" Merle replied.

They finished the drive in silence. They usually did. After a mugging, the brothers had two different reactions. Merle had a cheerful afterglow, Daryl just felt numb and quiet, honestly. Merle fished a small leather bag out of the glovebox. He took out supplies and hummed as he prepped some heroin needles. Daryl watched quietly and took one of the tourniquets his brother had pulled out the bag. He idly tied off his brachial vein. His brother prepared heroin deftly. He distributed, heated, and diluted quicker than anyone he'd ever saw. As he held the needles up for a bubble inspection with one hand, Merle tied himself off with his free arm and his teeth. If it weren't illegal and they came up with a timed competition, Daryl thought Merle could probably set a record.

He handed Daryl his needle and set to work on applying his own. Daryl was slow-minded from the weed. He felt as though it took him ten whole minutes to isolate his vein and put the needle in. Once he got his blood drawback, he took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and slowly pushed the liquid into himself.

Daryl always became acutely aware of his heart for a split second before a sudden rush of warmth spread from his center out to the rest of his body. The warmth reached his fingers and toes and looped back on itself. He idly became transfixed on idea of ocean waves being made up of hot water. He imagined fish boiling alive and dying and lapping up on the beach. The fabric of his pants felt soothing to the touch as his fingertips brushed them. He studied the flickering piss-yellow halos cast by the dingy street lamps lining the club. Daryl acknowledged the faint sound of some rap song's bass undercut by muffled conversations through the cement walls of the club in front. Daryl felt the sudden urge to fuck. The taste of red velvet cake crossed his mind.

"You know, Sam had the right idea about some things" Merle broke the silence.

Pulled out his thoughts, Daryl took a second and processed what he'd heard. Who was Sam? Doobie Passenger, he guessed. "What's that?" he asked.

"A man does indeed take what he wants" he laughed as he picked up the cash from the console and fanned it. Daryl scoffed quietly and smiled out the window.

"He takes it, and he takes it any cost" came a small feminine voice from the backseat.

His felt his heart seize up inside him. Daryl instantly recognized it as Beth's voice. The warmth and coursing of his blood turned to stagnated ice. His breath caught in his throat and he snapped his head around to look into the backseat, and sat upright into early daylight.

Daryl panted and allowed his swimming head to settle. A layer of dew covered him and the grass. Panic ebbed off as he became realigned with reality. He shot a glance to the funeral home, the bags remained on the porch and nothing hinted of any change. Reaching over to grab his crossbow, Daryl noted that Merle remained next to him, snoring away. He was dismayed by this, he'd hoped a lack of daytime Merle meant whatever issue he was having was wearing off, but apparently not.

Standing up on stiff, noncompliant legs Daryl surveyed his immediate surroundings. Nothing had changed that he noticed. He gathered up his pack and a few random straggler items. Daryl stretched for a few moments and set off to patrol the perimeter, leaving Merle to his sleep.

Part Four, Day

As the morning wore on, Daryl felt a growing fatigue in his muscles. He kept an eye on the funeral home and did patrols of the field more frequently than he usually did, hoping he could work out his soreness. Every now and then he'd eat a handful of sour, almost-turned blueberries from his pocket. After a few hours, Merle woke up and began following behind him.

"You know, little bro, that spa food your downing ain't gonna help you get any more energy. Neither will all this stupid walking" Merle quipped, arms crossed.

Daryl heard a slight rustling a few feet away off in the woods, and readied his bow. He moved carefully towards the sound, scanning for the coming walker. As he got closer and closer to the noise with nothing in view, he glanced down and saw it was just a crawler. An old man, maybe late 60s, and severed entirely just below the waist. He absentmindedly named it Carl Crawler to himself. Daryl shouldered his bow and took out his knife instead.

"Persistent little fuckers" Merle clucked. Daryl moved in to stab the crawler in the skull. As he got within arm's reach, he stumbled on a large branch he hadn't noticed, doubling forward in surprise and falling toward the crawler. Going down, Daryl reevaluated his plan and braced himself to put one hand on the shoulder as the other hand drove the knife home. He connected and the crawler ceased to garble and writhe, but he was now sprawled on top of the crawler. The smell was overpowering and the crawler was slick and crumbling to touch. He felt the weight of fleshy slime on his torso as he quickly pushed himself up and off the ground. He wrinkled his nose and attempted to brush most of the slime off himself.

Merle was surprisingly silent for all of this. Daryl didn't spare a look back at him as he turned and headed back to the perimeter of the open field to continue his patrol. Once back on the path, he looked off to his side and checked the funeral home for activity once again. Nothing so far. He turned his head forward again, and abruptly stopped short. Merle was directly in front of him, blocking his path.

"What the fuck was that?" he asked, incredulous.

Daryl ignored him and stepped around him. He only made it a few steps before Merle put himself in front of Daryl again and put his hand on his chest to stop him. This sent an icy pang of surprise and horror through Daryl. He really felt his hand. His hallucination was deepening and maturing. He looked all around before meeting Merle's gaze.

"What. The. Fuck. Was. That" Merle repeated.

"I tripped. Shit happens" Daryl answered, reaching up to shove Merle's hand off.

"Maybe to other dipshits. But not you, Daryl. You didn't see that fucking branch? It was thick as my leg. A goddamn crawler could have just killed you. A crawler, for fuck's sake" Merle said.

"Yeah, well it didn't, did it?" Daryl answered. He stepped around his brother again, walking away from him briskly.

"You're slipping up, man. Doing simple, dumb shit. Basic, rookie mistakes. Daryl, you're a tracker, you're a lot better than that shit. You need food. Real food" he said. Merle's usual tone of sarcasm was gone. He was using his 'big brother' voice, a voice that somehow always managed to both scare and piss Daryl off.

"The fuck you know about anything. You're a damn mirage" Daryl snapped.

Merle stayed where he was and yelled out after him, "Even if you ain't gonna do a fire, you could get something better than shit berries. Find some lizards, a snake. Anything, fuck. You fall out over not eating, you're liable get attacked and to die out here. Don't be a dumbass, Daryl"

Daryl rolled his eyes and replied over his shoulder, "Ain't got time to look for no damned lizard. I'm walking this perimeter"

He stormed on, pissed and feeling like a chastised child. Merle had that effect on him. Even a fake, extension-of-his-own mind Merle hallucination could make him feel twelve and stupid. He was relieved to not hear Merle following him. Once he'd walked a quarter more of the perimeter, he saw that Merle stood where he'd left him, watching him with an unreadable expression.

He'd gotten distracted from checking the funeral home. He looked over to notice Beth had come out and was on the porch, rummaging through bags. Daryl knelt down and moved back a bit in case she looked up. He watched her in silence for several minutes. She moved things from one bag to another. She picked one bag up and paused before putting it down. She took a few steps in one direction or another, picking up bags and setting them down. Her actions were erratic, it was though she was hesitant about what she wanted to do. Every few seconds she'd glance up and scan the perimeter, but Daryl was out of view. After about twenty minutes of messing with the bags, Beth turned and abruptly walked back into the house. Daryl was confused. He stood watch for another half hour, curious if she would return.

When he decided she wasn't coming back, he walked a few feet into the forest and took a few minutes to scourge for edible plants. He only found a few and immediately ate them. Merle was right about his intake though. He wasn't paying enough attention to his body's needs. His water reserves had run out three days ago, and he'd resorted to drinking from stagnant pools on the forest floor, something he knew to not be all that smart, he could easily pick up any number of bad stomach bugs that way. A stream existed about a half mile into the woods but he couldn't manage to allow himself to leave the view of the funeral home.

As far as food went, he doubted he'd cleared more than 800 calories a day for the better part of a week now. With this in mind and with the fatigue in his muscles, he found an area of brush in the field and sat down in it. He remembered Merle then and glanced up to see where he was. To his slight relief, he saw that Merle was gone. However, for the first time since his hallucination had showed up, he felt a small pang of regret for that fact, too. Even though he felt Merle was a manifestation of Daryl coming unglued, he'd started being constructive for once. But he knew he was ignoring his starvation, and he didn't really need a hallucination to tell him that.

The morning turned to late morning and eventually meandered on to early afternoon. Beth repeated her bizarre ritual a few more times, doing something a bit different each time. One time she even went so far as to gather up all the bags and begin walking across the field towards the woods before stopping short, looking wildly around the edge of the forest and turning on her heel to walk quickly back to the porch. Each time she seemed more flustered. The last time she threw the bags on the porch and sat down on the steps. Beth crossed her arms and lowered her head. Daryl thought she might be crying. He wanted so badly to cross the field and do something to help her, but he maintained his distance.

Beth sat on the porch for a long time after that. Early afternoon passed, then late afternoon, and eventually the sunlight began to dim as dusk approached. She stood up and checked a bag, pulling out a can. She momentarily scanned the field one last time and disappeared into the house. Daryl had a feeling she was in for the night.

He stood up and walked into the forest to forage. He took Merle's advice and took a bit more time in the woods, catching and killing a few tree lizards. He returned to the edge of the field and watched the funeral home. Fire still wasn't happening so he ate the dead lizards raw. As he watched the home, he considered her behavior. Was she afraid of setting out on her own? Was she weighing whether she should hold out for someone to wander up or if she should set out to find someone?

Daryl finished the last lizard as a final possibility entered his mind, pricking the edges of his consciousness, the idea making him feel wounded even though he had no right to feel that way. It was probable, and honestly highly likely, that she'd spotted him before and was scared of encountering him when she set out. If that was the case, he figured she'd hang back a few more days and watch for another sighting of him. Eventually, she'd feel compelled to leave after not seeing him out for a while. He'd have to be more careful. The idea that he might be cornering her into the funeral home and driving her to deplete her stocks bothered him. But there was nothing he could do. He could only commit to not being seen again.

"Or, and here's a real kicker of an idea, how about you actually leave the damn girl alone. Looking like she don't want your hovering no how. Let the little bitch fend for herself. We could keep moving already" Merle chimed in from behind him.

Daryl turned and cut his eyes at Merle in a look of warning. He felt his skin flame up, his rage reflex beginning to stir. He spoke slowly and deliberately, "Don't call her that"

"Sorry, Sir Daryl" he said in overly exaggerated voice, throwing his hands up. He bowed slightly, "the Honorable Little Lady, if you please"

Despite himself, Daryl cracked a small smile at that. Even in death, Merle still maintained his undeniable penchant for knowing just how to piss you off.


	5. Chapter 5

Part Five, Night

Daryl fell asleep earlier than he usually did, with less patrols of the perimeter beforehand. His sleep was fitful and punctuated with dreams. As he awoke from another dream, one he didn't quite remember, he rolled onto his side. He didn't feel well. He couldn't quite place it, but he felt ragged. His muscles still ached, but now his head throbbed dully and he felt weak. He sighed and sat up. Looking toward the funeral home. Less packs were on the porch but there was no current activity to be seen. A cold panic hit him and he worried that she'd set out.

Daryl started to stand but hesitated. He sat back down instead. What if she had left? What did it matter? He wanted to keep her safe but maybe he was hurting more than helping. If she wouldn't leave because she was aware he was in the woods, she'd eventually use too many provisions to travel safely. He sighed deeply. His eyes were heavy. It was doubtful she was even gone. Traveling alone at night was very dangerous and Beth wasn't stupid.

He laid back down and looked up at the night sky. He usually could estimate the time by studying the sky, even at night. Wracking his brain, he tried to place the time. He couldn't tonight. His eyes grew heavier and heavier until he closed them. Eventually, Daryl drifted off.

In his sleep, he was back at the day when everything had started. He'd been staying at a motel with Merle just outside of Athens. They'd recently knocked over a few houses about a hundred miles upstate and were laying low for a couple weeks. Daryl was high and lying on a dingy bed in a dingy room, the lights out and the room illuminated only by a cheap television set. A half burned cigarette rested in his hand over a coffee cup. Even though it was a shithole motel, it had had a no-smoking policy. He and Merle hadn't listened for the last three days, there was no use starting now. In the bed next to his, Merle snored nosily.

The television droned on about increased instances of police brutality and some virus that was circulating. They made it sound like some killer flu bug mixed with rabies. He thought about the last time he'd seen a flu shot advertisement. Hadn't been one this year yet _. Don't they usually try to get that stuff out before the new virus hits?,_ he wondered half-heartedly.

He dragged on the cigarette. The TV dimmed as the newswoman cut to some footage of cops shooting at people in a dark, nondescript street. Some of the people kept coming towards the cops despite being shot, and a few that reached a couple of unlucky cops launched onto them and started mauling them. Daryl wasn't the most-versed in science but it looked to him like the people weren't sick, just completely blazed on bath salts or PCP. When the camera returned to the woman, she glanced off screen like she was reading something and began announcing more closed streets, businesses, and schools that were taking any early day off.

It almost looked to him like she had some repressed terror in her eyes, like she could say more but wouldn't. He had a tendency to get paranoid when he smoked weed alone though. Daryl stamped out his cigarette and stretched out on the bed. Whatever was going on wasn't of much concern to him, he had no roads to travel or businesses to visit today. He felt groggy and decided to take a nap. He rolled away from the TV and closed his eyes, feeling the lovely warmth of buzzed sleepiness developing.

A knock came to the door, and Daryl opened his eyes. He thought for a second and remembered they'd put the 'No Housekeeping' sign on the door. Annoyed he closed his eyes again, hoping the maid got the message.

A series of light, rapid knocks sounded on the door again, followed by a few heavier ones. Daryl rolled over and sighed, looking at the door. Merle snored on, oblivious; it took a lot to wake him. He rolled his eyes and got out the bed. He trudged across the room, ready to tell the maid to read the sign and shove off. When he looked through the peephole though, Daryl saw no one.

He moved his head back and looked at the door, confused. Maybe they'd already left. Another series of small knocks came. He looked through the hole. Nothing. He narrowed his eyes, his paranoia sharp. Who the fuck was playing with their door? He kept the safety chain attached and unlocked the deadbolt. He opened the door a crack.

A little girl, no older than nine, stood at the door. She had red stains on her dress. Her face was messed up entirely with crying. She sobbed and sniffed pitifully and reached her hands into the door. Daryl took a half step back.

"Please sir let me in there, please. My dad got ate. He won't get up cause they ate him down the hall and I'm scared because they're gonna eat me too" she sobbed out in a blubbering, squealy voice.

"You should go to the office, little girl" Daryl said. He pushed the door some, trying to close it. She thrust her hands deeper in and squealed loudly. Her crying was more like an animal than a person.

"No, no, I don't wanna get eat!" she cried out. Daryl looked her full in the eyes. It sent ice up his spine. This little girl had seen something and had the look of someone on death's doorstep. He heard motion down the hall. The little girl looked off and screamed, forcing her entire arms through and smashing her face into the door crack, desperate to get in at any cost.

He was panicked now. Merle was stirring also, waking up. He made a decision in that second that had followed him every day since. Forcefully, he put a hand on her forehead and shoved her backwards with all his might. In the instant before he slammed the door back, he saw the utter and complete terror in her eyes as she fell back. He didn't think eyes could ever be as wide as hers were in that moment, and he'd never seen any as haunting again. In the next second, she was gone. The door was shut, screams and sounds of struggle echoed from the other side.

Things happened quickly after that. Merle was awake and without explanation he gauged the situation. They threw their stuff together and opened the window on the opposite of the room from the door. The motel was built like an L, first-floor, and with all rooms facing out toward the woods with a window on one side and the open-air hallways on the other. Crawling out, they armed themselves and snuck slowly out of the city, killing when they met any resistance. And like that, it had begun, over weeks, and then months, the walkers filled up the cities and bled into the woods. People panicked and died and everything changed, but they moved on like they always had. Nothing much had changed for them. They went on stealing and attacking as they saw fit, they just kept to the woods more now.

Daryl woke up crying. He sat up and wiped his face, looking around with shame. He was relieved ghost-Merle wasn't there to see. Night was lifting up anyway. He felt disgusted with himself. He'd felt that way then, too, but he'd buried it down. It wouldn't have taken much to let the goddamn kid in the room. Merle would have bitched and obviously they wouldn't have kept a little girl around, but they could have at least gotten her out of the motel. He could have saved her, and he didn't. In fact, he knocked her down, took away any chance she had of even running. He had offered her up on a silver platter.

Feeling entirely distraught and fighting off a desire to sob, Daryl stood and began walking. He replaced his disgust with anger, and used it to help him walk despite being tired and weak. As usual, he looked at the funeral home. No changes.

He started to walk the perimeter but reconsidered. He was angry and wanted to take out frustration. Daryl almost wanted to find a walker, so he could kill something. Not many walkers had managed to get close to the funeral home for whatever reason. He hedged his bets on walking further into the woods. He walked about a half-mile deep into the woods and started walking in a circle around where he gauged the funeral home to be. He walked aimlessly, without paying much attention to the ground. It was difficult to see yet anyhow. Fifteen minutes of brisk walking later with no walkers and Daryl began to feel foolish for his storming around. He noticed a storage shed up ahead to his left. He hadn't noticed it before, they hadn't ventured this way.

When it happened, he wasn't quite sure if there was a trigger hole or a trip wire or some other device. The only concrete thing he'd remember was that something felt wrong beneath one of his feet and then there was the deafening boom and the bright flash of light and the sound of cracking, splintering wood. Daryl was thrown back and he landed hard on the ground, stars filling his vision as his head cracked against the ground and the air was taken from his lungs. He felt waves of adrenaline course through him coupled with intense pain. He cried out once his lungs regained some wind. The pain radiated and blossomed and folded away, but something was very wrong. He couldn't process it yet and he was afraid to, but he knew something was bad. He laid for a minute and a half before he lifted his head slightly, feeling like nails were being hammered into his skull.

His left leg was impaled through with a piece of the exploded tree. He could hardly register the gravity of this. He made small whimpering sounds and felt himself dip out of consciousness.

Part Five, Day

Daryl came to with no idea of how long he'd been out. The world around him had begun to lighten, daylight drifted in around the trees. The corners of his vision held a soft blur, and he felt as though his field of vision was shrinking, his periphery tunneling inward. His hearing felt so acute and sharp. Crickets and birds announced the morning, a slight wind rustled the tree branches above. Another, more disturbing sound, occurred to him: a visceral whine of pain. It was his own, and he honestly didn't think he could stop himself. He considered how strange it was that he felt so cold yet so hot at the same time. Hot and wet. A fast, rhythmic throbbing radiated up from his leg. With each heartbeat, he felt another unbearably distinct throb call up to him. It dawned on him that he was going to die here and he was going to do so pitifully.

He heard someone approaching, running up towards him. He couldn't turn to look, he could only watch the leaves rustle above him.

"Oh no, oh no, oh God no" she said, panicked. He recognized the voice as Beth's. Even in all his pain, he felt a wave of mixed emotion. He heard her drop to her knees by him. Her hand was on his chin and his head was turned toward her, he looked at her. Her eyes were wide and searching, fear on her face.

"Daryl!" she yelled, slapping his face lightly, "Talk to me, Daryl"

He couldn't. He felt like he was looking up at her through fourteen feet of water. Beth moved her hand to his throat and lowered his head to his mouth. She smelled sweet and clean. "Barely breathing and your pulse is quick" she stated.

Her eyes darted wildly up and down his body. She took her shirt off and pulled out her knife. Beth cut the shirt raggedly down the middle. Quickly, she moved to his lower torso. He felt excruciating pain as she lifted his impaled leg slightly and looped the shirt around his thigh. Beth leaned in and exerted all her might into tying the shirt tightly around the leg.

Her face appeared directly over his, her hair fell into his face. "We have to move, okay?" You're bleeding a lot. I can't, I can't take this out here. We'll have to move with it" she said. She disappeared instantly. She moved his leg some more and he heard the sound of her hacking away at the end of the branch that had impaled him through. It took her several minutes, she made small noises of frustrated exertion.

"C'mon,, goddamnit" she muttered, he felt her digging with her nails at the branch, trying to remove it from where it'd lodged itself in the ground. Eventually he felt a wave of pain so intense his vision became nothing but a burst of bright white light. He heard himself make an inhuman scream.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry" she whispered as she maneuvered him into a sitting positon and draped an arm around herself. She locked her arms around his torso, hugging him tightly to herself. With a concentrated effort, Beth strained and pulled them upward, until she was standing on bent and strained knees. She turned them and began slowly walking them toward the funeral home.

Daryl's head lolled uselessly. He got a more complete view of the situation as they moved through the field. They were both bathed in blood at this point. Beth's bare torso and bra were splotched red. An ugly, misshapen branch jutted out of his thigh ominously. Each step hurt so much Daryl felt himself fading off into unconsciousness. Beth was red in the face and panting from struggling with his weight. He wanted to stand, to unburden her. He could do nothing, he was paralyzed in his pain and shock. His eyes rolled shut and he passed out.

When he came to, he was in the funeral home. She'd managed to get him up on some hard, elevated surface, he guessed the dining table. He heard her running around the house, gathering things. Beth returned and scrambled up onto the table.

"Don't leave me, please, don't leave me" she pleaded as she crawled halfway on top of him and exerted pressure on his thigh. It felt as though she were trying to rip his leg off. He felt the worst pain he'd ever encountered in his life, so intense he was roused from his blood-loss stupor. He sat up halfway, screaming. She was splayed across his lap, her back to him as she worked on his leg. He found his arms and reached out to her back weakly and desperately. Unable to reason, he clawed at her back, his grip slipping on her blood and sweat soaked shoulders.

"No, I won't let you leave me" she growled back at him, moving away from his grasp. Her force intensified, the muscles of her back tensed. Something in his leg felt as though it gave entirely. An odd sensation of something being taken way occurred to him, followed by a new, hollow pain. She yanked sheets from a stack she'd placed next to them and ripped them. She tied and tied, looping and pulling as hard as she could. When she was done, it felt as though she'd removed half his leg and put a ton of bricks on top of it.

She leaned back some, turning her head to look at him. They were face-to-face, inches apart. Somewhere deep in his mind, behind all the pain this fact filled his awareness, he thought of how bizarrely beautiful she looked. She was covered in blood, hair turned strawberry blonde and clumped in strands and her eyes shining out through a red mask. He collapsed back and panted heavily.

She moved downward and put her weight on his leg also. It hurt horribly but it dimmed the pulsating pain, dampening it down gradually. She stayed that way for what felt like an entirety until the pulses of pain had changed to a constant wall of pain. Beth lifted herself off and studied his leg. He heard her sigh lightly, something like hesitant relief in her delivery. She placed her head on his chest and listened to his heart and lungs. For a while, she stayed like this. Her breathing slowed gradually and she calmed herself. He considered idly how taxing the last half hour had been on her.

"Your pulse is all over the place. You lost a lot of blood" she mused.

"Beth, you-" he croaked, losing his voice as quickly as he'd found it.

"Spare your energy, Daryl" she said softly. Something clanged out on the porch. Beth sat up quickly and left his side. He sensed her moving toward the door to look out the window.

"Oh hell" she murmured. She turned back and forth, gathering her thoughts, "Okay, yeah, okay". She scrambled out of the room, Daryl heard her rummaging around. Returning to the room, Beth put down a gallon of water and pulled Daryl's head up, propping it on a few pillows she'd brought. She took his hands and clasped them encouragingly around the water.

"Daryl, drink this, please. Just try to get some of this down for now, ok? I'll be right back" she assured.

He weakly fumbled with the water, spilling some on himself, managing to drink some. With his head propped, he had a better view. As he'd assumed, he was on the dining room table. She'd pulled it out into the hall for some reason, maybe to have less area to carry him. Beth loaded a handgun and eyed the door. Rapping sounds and moans drifted through. She'd heard the blast, so had they, and they'd followed the trail of his blood.

Beth steadied her arm, aiming the gun and moved to open the door. She braced herself and yanked it open. Five or six walkers loomed on the porch. Instinctively, he used one hand to search beside himself, but it wasn't there and he didn't have the strength to use it anyhow. She fired off six rounds, one for each skull. They dropped as though they were choreographed. He was impressed despite himself; she'd gotten to be quite a shot.

Looking back at him she spoke, " I will be right back. The blood. I'm going to cover it"

He couldn't speak to protest. She bounded out the door. Daryl laid on the table and drank the water listlessly. A sense of fatigue had settled over him that he couldn't relate to or place. He was tired and sleepy in a way he'd never experienced before, it felt looming and palpable, as though it were some dense cloud hanging above his head and just out of sight. A thought crossed his mind that made him truly terrified: it was death. Death was on the horizon of his existence, and he laid under it and dumbly struggled to drink water.

Beth returned and shut the door tightly behind herself. She swept back over to him in a fluid motion, grabbing his wrists for his pulse, putting her head back against his chest. He noted that even though he felt the movement of her holding his wrist, he couldn't feel her touch. She looked concerned as she lifted her head, turning away to focus on his leg again. She tested whatever bulky, tight, heavy dressing she had on it. She nodded.

"Hands are numb" he managed. Beth looked at him, her eyes brightened as a thought came to her. She jumped off the table and ran out the room. She returned with even more pillows. She grabbed his leg and sent a jolt of extra pain up his back. She elevated his impaled leg, and turned away, disappearing from the room again.

A few minutes later, she returned. She clutched several sealed bottles of different sizes with something clear and water-like, and a bag with tubing attached. Beth surveyed the room and returned with a coat rack. She opened the bottle and poured it into the bag before stringing it up on the coat rack. She busied herself with clamps on the line. Turning back towards him she grabbed an arm and straightened it, she poured a smaller bottle on his forearm and the smell of rubbing alcohol filled the air. A pinch like a bee sting originated from his inner elbow.

"Oh shit" she said as she applied pressure to the area she'd just stuck and warm liquid flowed from the needle. She clumsily turned and grabbed the tubing behind her and attached it to the needle in his arm. She produced some tape, dried the area, and secured the tubing to his arm. Daryl felt a rush of fluid entering his arm. She hopped off the table and returned with a dining room chair. She climbed up onto it so that she was standing level with the elevated bag of fluid. She opened another bottle and poured it into the bag as it emptied itself into him.

"It's saline. It's just something to open your veins back up. I saw daddy do this a few times. Normally it comes in the bag, but they've just got empty bags here. For getting bodies ready I guess. Draining blood or putting in embalming fluid or both maybe" she told him.

Beth put a couple bottles of the fluid into the bag before climbing down. Daryl wasn't sure if it was psychological or not but he thought some feeling had returned to his hand. The pain in his leg became louder, but it felt less like a sucking pain and more like a throb now. Regardless, the cloud still hung over his head.

She looked over him again, repeating her ritual of checking his pulse and listening to his chest. He felt his eyes becoming heavy and he closed them. Relieved, he noted that even with closed eyes he didn't quite feel like he was holding on to a thin rope like he did before. He felt unbearable pain still, and he was fully mentally available to acknowledge it now that things had quieted.

"You need blood" he heard her say. She was quiet for a few minutes and Daryl almost thought she was done speaking. "I'm O positive. I can give you blood. Daryl are you negative? Do you know?" she asked.

He couldn't reply. He tried to hold onto consciousness but it slipped away from. He gave in to the pain, and passed back out.

AN: Okay, to clarify some stuff, don't ever take something impaled out. Also, it's not a good idea to give someone with acute and severe shock water. It takes a while for the water to be volume-replacing anyway, and more risk is had in the person losing consciousness and aspirating the water. What I put out there is basically 18th century battlefield emergent care, and that killed a lot more people than it saved but, hey, gotta work with what you have. Beth, to me, knows OF medical knowledge, and while that's not the same as having medical knowledge, you stll can get lucky sometimes. Also, I hope you don't hate me now for hurting Daryl 0: )


	6. Chapter 6

AN: So, things will be a bit different now. The usual day/night separations seem unrealistic, considering, so I'm going to try something different for the time being. Thank you for the reviews, by the way, they keep me going.

Six, Light I

Daryl came to in silence, the house sounded totally empty. He heard nothing of Beth. He tried to lift his head but failed. He resigned himself to studying the ceiling, noting the stretched yellow light. Late afternoon, he assumed. Pain cocooned and wrapped him tightly, almost reassuring him now with its consistency. The pain now had company, a coldness he felt throughout his body. After what could have been minutes or hours for all he knew, he head a rattling as the door opened.

Shuffling sounds of movement and the rustling of things moving within a bag roused him more fully. Beth sighed somewhere near him and put things down. Footsteps became louder until Beth was bent over him, looking down at him. She held his wrists, checking his pulse. She put a hand to his chest, then her head to his chest, and then looked down at his legs before looking back up at him.

"Hey. I'm back" she said, softly. "While you were out I tried some blood on you, and everything seemed okay. I had some epinephrine in case though. Now we'll get more in you"

Nodding slightly, she disappeared and walked away, leaving the hall. Daryl used all his might to lull his head to the side. He watched Beth sit down on a loveseat in the viewing room adjoining the hall where he lay. She preoccupied herself with digging through a large paper bag. She took another IV-like bag out, dropping it to the floor and holding on to the tubing. She leaned back and laid halfway down. He wondered what she was up to, but knew as soon as he saw her uncap a large needle and study it.

Jesus, why would she do this? He opened his mouth to protest but it wouldn't comply. Beth looped a belt around her upper arm, extended it out over the arm of the loveseat, and doused it with what he assumed was rubbing alcohol. She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and winced as she pushed the needle into her forearm.

"Oh" she sighed. Dark red fluid rushed the tubing to flow into the bag on the floor. She closed her eyes and let it drain, anchoring the tubing to her arm with her other hand. He could do nothing as she finished one bag, and proceeded to fill three more. He was freezing and he was paralyzed.

How much blood could one give in one sitting? He couldn't remember. He wasn't sure he even knew to begin with. She was draining herself of blood to help him and he didn't understand why. What she was doing was dangerous. He didn't know when it happened but he was unconscious again.

Six, Dark I

Behind his eyes, he felt warmth rushing into him. He couldn't make out what it was but he felt like he was being filled up again. He hadn't really grasped how cavernous and empty his body had felt until he felt this warmth entering him. It felt like something vital, something necessary, fleshing him back out and warming his bones.

Crickets and cicadas sang outside the funeral home walls. He saw everything of the house, every room and every window, dimly lit with candles. Beth was curled up on the loveseat, now pushed up against a window in the viewing room with her back to Daryl. She hunched over a book. She felt weak, her eyes heavy with sleep. She glanced up occasionally to look out into the yard, then went back to the book.

 _..and in the days that followed, she grew desperate with her fear,_ she read for probably the tenth time. Some poorly-written murder mystery, she'd found it in a bedside nightstand. She curled her toes and stretched. Maybe she'd take a brief nap soon, then go back to her watch. She wasn't naïve, she knew she did them no good if she was delirious with exhaustion.

Outside of himself he watched as he rose from the table. He didn't feel right rising though, his movements felt as though they were happening through mud. His muscles didn't seem to initiate his actions. He sat up and became aware that he wasn't breathing.

She ran numbers and scenarios through her head as she rested it on the arm of the loveseat. The blood transfusions were almost done, he'd had no reaction, but she'd been vigilant with the Tylenol and Benadryl too. Not to mention, epi stayed within reach. She would read the drug book she'd found at the nearby nursing home more thoroughly in the morning, see which of the several bottle of antibiotics she'd grabbed seemed best. Once she could spare the IV, she'd also give him some morphine. She wished she knew if he had allergies. She scoffed lightly, she doubted he knew even if she could manage to ask him.

Daryl silently left the table, standing somehow. How did his leg allow this? He felt as though he were standing on half a leg, his gait spastic and uneven. She must have been too tired to hear him, there was no way the sick sound of his leg crunching as he stepped forward wasn't audible.

It surprised her, really, that she'd been so lucky to find drugs. Beth knew from doing runs out on the road that pharmacies, doctors' offices, and hospitals were totally ransacked. But the isolated nursing home in the woods she'd happened upon remained reasonably stocked. It occurred to her then that the dark patient rooms she passed contained dead elderly people. She'd wondered why there was no sign of walkers. Even if they died in their beds, they'd have become walkers and crawlers. They were shot, but they didn't look as though they'd ever been undead. Her answer came when she got to the storage room where several people in scrubs laid in a circle, gunshots through their skulls. A chill had run though her, she realized the staff had killed the patients and after, they had killed themselves. Beth hugged herself at the memory.

Lost in her reverie, she never noticed Daryl behind her. And he felt no control as he leaned in to grab her and sink his teeth into the back of her neck. She screamed in surprise and turned towards him, he let go and bit down on her throat, he fell onto her. Hot blood pooled in his mouth, her throat vibrated and pulsed in his mouth. Beth's scream turned to a gurgle and then to silence.

Six, Light II

Daryl felt unbearably hot, but his skin felt as though it were glazed with frost. His eyes snapped open and he was awake with a racing heart and a feeling of unbearable dread. His voice caught and rasped in his throat, he felt the need to cough and did so. Each weak cough racked through his body with blinding-light shocks of pain.

Rapid footsteps and Beth was over him, her hair brushed across his face. Her bright eyes were inquisitive and concerned. She watched his face intently, her hands were all over him, checking him.

"Do you hurt more? Is it hard to breathe? What are you feeling, Daryl?" she asked rapidly. She put a hand to his neck, taking his pulse and trying to gauge the effort inside his throat. Her other hand laid its back on his forehead. She brought both hands up and stroked his face. Her hands felt so cool and soothing. She was okay, his breathing slowed and he relaxed visibly.

"You're so hot. You're sweating and burning up" she mused. She turned and knelt down to rummage through a bag on the floor. She came back up and produced three large brightly colored capsules. She brought them to his mouth.

"Open up, take these. They're some antibiotics, the least likely to cause a reaction that I have" she told him. He complied and she followed the pills with a jug of water. He drank thirstily. He fought the giant pills down. She took a plastic vial of clear water and busied herself with transferring something from a small, dark vial into the water of the plastic vial. He felt as she messed with the IV, and then he felt cool liquid enter his arm followed by an overall feeling of weightlessness and softness. His pain suddenly seemed like a strange, distant visitor off in the corner of his awareness, speaking some language he didn't understand now. He just didn't seem to comprehend his pain as being painful anymore. Beth sat up and looked in his eyes.

She smiled, "Some pain medicine too. I'm going to change your leg dressing now"

Beth disappeared and he was dimly aware of her unwrapping his leg. She paused and looked at the leg. She prepared something else and he felt a distant pinch as she injected something into his leg muscle. After she'd cleaned his leg, Beth slowly and dutifully repacked and rewrapped his leg. He also noticed that she was cleaning and changing him also. He felt ashamed that she was having to treat him like a total invalid. But, the morphine dampened the horror he would normally feel. He could do nothing but be cared for and lie there.

Inside his opioid stupor he found himself overwhelmed by his love for her. His eyes drifted past her and watched as daylight played with shadows cast by windows. Absentmindedly, he considered how she was such a pure and incredible thing. How something like her had lived this long in such an ugly world was amazing. But, he thought, at the same time it was completely understandable. The world would have burned to the ground weeks after the dead had started coming back if things like her didn't exist. She was the embodiment of what was worth fighting for; something that existed, stark and unapologetic, to insist that people fight back and reclaim the world.

"Can we though..?" he croaked out, asking his answerless question to the room. Beth sat back in surprise. Expectantly watching him like a hawk. She held her breath.

"Daryl?" she asked meekly.

"If I turn" he said with a raspy, ill-formed voice, "I need you to kill me"

Beth frowned at him. She repositioned herself until she hovered directly over his face. She was inches from him, she looked into his eyes hard. "It isn't going to come to that" she stated. There was no hesitance, not even any hopefulness, she simply spoke with an air of irrefutable fact.

He wasn't much of an optimist but something in her voice and the singing in his veins told him that it would, in fact, not come to that. He half-smiled and his eyelids dropped, he slipped backwards into sleep.

Six, Dark II

Daryl felt himself permeate throughout the walls of a house he hardly recognized. An older woman cut the lights out in a kitchen and walked to a bedroom down a hall on the first floor. An even older man put down a newspaper and cut lights out throughout the living room and den, he double-checked the lock on the front and back door of the house before joining his wife in the bedroom. The entire first floor of the country farmhouse was now dark, but a sole light remained on upstairs. He noted that it was the Greenes' house.

Within the room with the sole light, Beth went into the bathroom adjoining her bedroom and washed her face. Daryl noted the layout of the room, decorated for a teenage girl. Beth lifted the top of her pajamas and studied a series of linear scratches down her rib cage. She cut herself, on occasion. Not terribly deep, she told herself, she just liked the shock of the sting and the bright red beads of blood that welled up. She took a tube of ointment from the bathroom vanity and rubbed some over the wounds before putting her shirt down.

Beth returned to her bedroom and sat down cross-legged on the floor. At a low volume, music played from a stereo on her dresser. She held a bottle on nail polish and a human physiology textbook. She sat the heavy book down beside her and opened it to her bookmark: osteogenesis. Not her favorite topic but she committed to scanning through it. Beth liked to review at least one body system or one physiological process a day when she had downtime. She opened her nail polish as she reviewed the difference between osteoclasts and osteoblasts. Singing softly, Beth began painting her toenails.

She was a rising junior in high school. Summer break had recently started. Currently, she was lazing through a few weeks of break before she started up her summer job in a diner a town over. A stack of novels she'd been saving up to read sat on her bedside table, she planned to get through them slowly. Honestly, she'd really like to go outside and read tonight, her window was open and the night air felt amazing. But, Beth knew, if her dad caught her out there he may just pull the plug on letting her even have her summer job. The idea of being completely stuck on the farm all summer was enough to keep her in line.

She frowned down at her nails, she'd made a mistake. She licked a finger and rubbed compulsively around the nails, removing the excess. Maggie would be home for a week in a few days before she went to study abroad for the summer. Beth had to stifle her jealousy over that once Maggie arrived. Not only was her older sister leaving her alone for a whole summer at the farm, she was getting to go to Europe too. Beth would kill to get that chance.

Luckily, she had her job at least. She'd add to her savings and dream of college and trips abroad. Her time was coming, she just had to be patient. And then, hopefully, once she left the farm and her tiny high school, she'd start to feel some excitement over being alive. Life could begin for her just like it had for Maggie. Beth wanted to be an overseas medic, she wanted to explore the world.

Beth sat back and studied her nails, she studied her work, considering a second coat. Beth wasn't miserable or anything. She had a good group of friends, she ranked on the high side of average in the social hierarchy. She did AP classes, she was on the swim team, she cheered, played tennis, and tutored middle schoolers. No one disliked Beth, and she disliked no one. She'd never felt particularly depressed or bullied or distressed. Just bored, really. She decided against the second coat and stood up, stretching her arms.

Beth looked across the room, near the open window. Her eyes widened and quickly narrowed. She furrowed her brown in mild anger as she looked directly at Daryl. He became aware that he was standing in her bedroom, by her window.

"Seriously? What are you doing here?" she hissed and slid across the room, she grabbed him by his hands.

"I wanted to see you again before I leave" he answered. He wasn't aware he was going to say that, and he had no idea where he was supposed to be going. She rolled her eyes and smiled mockingly.

Beth led him over to sit on the bed with her. "Okay. But be quiet. If my dad had any idea you were here we'd both be dead, Mike" she said, her eyes sparkling.

Daryl scoffed internally at this. Yeah, no shit, that was an understatement. Herschel would have his throat slit and have him hung up by his feet if he knew Daryl was sitting on his sixteen year old daughter's bed. He felt weird, and glanced down at his body. He was himself physically, but he didn't feel like himself at all. He guessed he was Mike.

Unexpected to himself, he spoke again, "I won't be back for two whole months. I'm going to miss you, it was a chance worth taking"

Beth cupped his hands in her and rubbed them, "Aw. It'll fly by, we'll both be busy"

"Eh, maybe" he answered, suddenly remembering something, "Which reminds me"

Daryl unshouldered a backpack he didn't know he had and dug in it. He produced from it a bottle of Boone Farms and two solo cups. In his mind, he recoiled. What utterly trash alcohol.

"Oh no, I don't want any" Beth said quickly. She put her hands up to further her point. Daryl shrugged and unscrewed the bottle cap. He took a long drink of the godawful fruity malt liquor. He recapped it.

Without warning, Beth leaned forward and kissed him deeply. Daryl let go of the bottle and it rolled across the bed. He felt his palms grow warm and sweaty. The back of his neck prickled. His face flushed. He kissed her back, but didn't feel quite right. He wondered idly if he was a good kisser. He was a nervous seventeen year old boy in a forty year old man's body. He laid back across her bed and pulled her halfway on top of him, not breaking their kiss. Daryl felt acutely aware of the dimensions of her body against his. He took a chance and put a hand to her chest, she didn't stop him. His mind wandered briefly to the fact that he had condoms in the bag. His heart sped up, excited. Maybe this time. He moved his hand, attempting to move it underneath the fabric of her tank top.

Beth pulled away and sat up. She looked away for several moments before glancing back at him. "I'm, uh, still just not ready… I'm sorry"

Daryl felt chagrined, but recovered quickly. He hadn't really expected anything to happen anyhow. He sat up too and regained his composure. His eyes darted around the room. The subject needed to change.

"Rob a library?" he asked sarcastically, eyeing her nightstand. She smiled and shot him a dirty look.

"Farm life, you know. It's either read or go crazy" she giggled.

As much as he didn't want to, he knew he needed to leave soon. He'd gotten out the house under the guise that he needed to return some stuff to a friend before his family left town in the morning. "Well, a trip to and from Alan's will start seeming less plausible soon. They'll be looking for me too before too long" he said. He stood reluctantly.

"I'm happy you came by" she said softly. He smiled and leaned to kiss her softly.

When he withdrew, he reached out and touched her cheek. "Don't get sick while I'm gone" he joked.

"What do you mean?" she asked.

"Oh yeah, not big on cable. It's nothing much. Some flu or something is going around. Said on the news it's killed a few old people already" he replied.

Beth curled up on her bed and smirked at him. "I think it's you that should worry about not getting sick, cross-country traveler. I won't be around enough people anytime soon to get sick with anything" she retorted.

He nodded at this and kissed her once more. They said small pathetic goodbyes and said they'd call each other. Beth promised letters once he could give her an address, she insisted it'd give her something to do. Daryl left her room by the window, creeping down the side of the house just like he'd entered it. Beth picked a book up from her pile, something suggested to her from her guidance counselor at school called _Nine Hills to Nambonkaha_ a. She read for a few hours and fell asleep with her light still on, feeling especially warm and happy. She dreamed of red hard dirt beneath her feet and people that spoke in musical languages she couldn't understand yet.

They exchanged a few phone calls over the next week and a half, but Beth never got to write a letter. Two days after Maggie arrived, the calls stopped. All contact from life beyond the farm became patchy and terrifying. Unreal news drifted in over the radio. Beth sat wide-eyed and sleepless alongside her family. They sat watching the edges of the fields, afraid of leaving the farm. A few miles away, skirting ominously around them, people had started getting sick and eating others, and they refused to die. Beth never finished the book she had been reading, nor did she start any of her others.

Six, Light III

Birds announced early morning and Daryl awoke to unchecked pain. He shivered as it occurred to him that he was freezing and hot, yet again. He took mental inventory of his body; he felt his fingers and toes. Of course, he also felt the dull cavity of his leg also. Wiggling his toes gave him an extra blunt reminder that his leg was wounded as a wave of nerve spasms shot up his back. He made a small sound and heard Beth shuffle up from the kitchen table.

Beth leaned over him a smiled warmly. "Good morning" she said. He noticed she seemed tired and thin. Her skin was pale, she seemed anemic to Daryl. She brought with her another round of pills and another liquid syringe of diluted morphine. This time, she held his head up and gave him something thick and mealy tasting to drink behind the antibiotics.

Quietly, she set about her routine of cleaning him and changing his bandages. He lulled with eyes half-opened as the morphine set him on air again. In the back of his mind he wondered how long this would be their existence. He wondered how long he'd been on the table, wondered how many days had passed.

Daryl heard her singing softly over him as she finished up her care. He considered the dream he'd had about Beth, he wondered if she thought about being a medic while she cared for him. Not quite as noble and fulfilling, surely. She was putting so much effort into him, and he still didn't get why. He wondered too about Mike. He knew of Jimmy. And Zach.

"Did you love Mike?" Daryl asked breathily, his eyes half-closed.

Beth stopped singing abruptly. A silence filled the room. Beth leaned back. Daryl turned his head slightly, trying to open his eyes to see her better. He couldn't, he was too drugged. But he could see even with his dim half-vision that there was a look of shock on her face.

"How do you know about Mike?" she asked quietly. He started to float off to sleep. Beth put a hand on his shoulder and shook him gently, "Daryl?"

Enveloped in warmth and comfort, he hummed slightly. He considered how to answer her. Daryl reached around in his mind for coherence and logic but it alluded him. In theory, he could get how odd his question sounded but he had no explanation to offer. He also couldn't seem to care that it was odd, he just knew it was a question he had, so he'd asked it. Seemed simple.

"You like to keep up with human body stuff and you want to see Africa. You want to do medic stuff" he stated, smiling gently.

Beth watched him with breathless curiosity. Minutes passed before she breathed, "Yeah. I do"

He laid back, his head spinning with morphine. "You'd be very good at it" he said. He drifted off to sleep.


	7. Chapter 7

AN: Sorry, it's been quite a while. I've been extremely busy lately opening a brand new unit at my hospital. This is more stream of consciousness and fever dreaming than plot advancement, I apologize in advance if you're not into that sort of thing but it's something I wanted to do for foreshadowing's sake. I'm working on another chapter also, hopefully that's not too far behind.

Heat

Fire laced his skin and he heard Beth's voice, muffled as though it was coming from the top of a well, somewhere far above him, "Oh please, c'mon"

Her voice was distressed, pleading him. Try as he might, Daryl was unable to reply. Where he was was dark and strange. He felt extremely hot. Daryl lifted his head up and looked around. He was sitting at a desk. He leaned back and looked around: Beth's bedroom.

Daryl pushed back and stood. The stereo softly played some song he didn't know. He moved tentatively around the room, looking at the makeup of a teenage girl's room. It seemed like things within the room had been untouched for a while, months even. The air in the room was unnaturally stiff and hot, it was difficult for him to breathe.

He crossed the room and looked out the window. It was pouring rain, he instinctively reached up to touch the glass. It was shockingly cold. It was a relieving feeling. He decided he wanted to be out there, he needed to cool himself down and get some fresh air. Daryl left the room and crossed the hall, heading to the stairs.

A soft voice floated up from the first floor, accompanied by piano notes. Beth's voice filled the staunch air. As he descended the stairs, he noted that the walls had changed. These were the stairs of the funeral home. Somewhere candles dimly lit the house. Daryl reached the bottom of the stairs. Singing floated toward him from the parlor to his left, almost palpable as it traveled on the air. Daryl coughed, he was sure the air had become even worse. It scalded his throat as he breathed it in.

At the sound of his cough, the playing stopped abruptly. Hesitantly, Daryl moved forward towards the parlor, rounding the corner. In the middle of the room, Beth stood. At some point she must have quietly stood up from the piano. She was wearing some silly, pastel nightgown, something more like a vestige of from teenaged life. It looked odd on her, despite the fact that, in all honesty, it fit her chronological age. Beth watched him carefully, her expression unreadable. The room was so hot, Daryl felt he must be sweating bullets.

"You know you can't be here" she hissed between her teeth, her eyes darting wildly behind him as though she expected someone to be close behind.

"I-" he began, his voice cracked and dry in the intense heat. Beth moved swiftly across the room, shushing him as she came towards him. Before he could process the situation, she was before him, and she had her hands on his forearms. She was inches from him, her eyes full of mischief and bright with excitement.

"Just hush, don't say anything. My dad could be awake right now. He'd kill you dead" she chided softly. Beth was standing extremely close to Daryl, making him nervous and turning his already dry throat to complete dust.

Daryl blinked hard and nodded weakly. Beth smiled and leaned towards him, pushing herself up on her tip toes to kiss him on the cheek. The action sent a jolt through him, her touch considerably cooler than his skin. Part of him wanted to envelope her in his arms, despite everything and the unreality of the situation, and hold her close to him. He resisted, and instead stood dumbstruck by her presence. He noted the light dusting of freckles on her nose, saw her head haloed by the candlelight playing on her blonde ringlets. He smelled a faint scent of honeysuckle and wondered idly if it originated from her shampoo.

"I mean, I get it, things are different now. But not that different. I know we don't really know how long all that that's going on out there will last, but it seems dangerous nonetheless. I want you to be able to stay here, but you can't upset daddy" she reasoned.

Daryl felt compelled to play along, he didn't see what other choice he had. For whatever strange reason unknown to him he wasn't Daryl to her right now, he understood that at least. "What do you think's going on out there?" he asked.

She paused to consider for a second before she replied. "If I had to say, I think it's a flu or some kind of virus thing. Maybe, it's even tuberculosis, you know. Something we need to wait out"

Daryl felt a pang of deep sadness. This was pre-suicidal Beth, pre-awareness of walkers. She was under some delusion that they were waiting out a spike of flu. He wondered if Herschel was aware of what was really going on, wondered if he was shielding his daughters.

"Yeah. Yeah, maybe" he replied weakly. Daryl wished for an open window, there was no air in the room, it was all stifling hot nothingness.

Beth turned and walked across the room to stand near the window, "I only wish mama would call or get back out here soon. Must be held up in a barricade, maybe she's even sick too. Which worries me, but she's pretty healthy otherwise, so she'll beat it"

He looked away from her. Yeah, she knew nothing at all at this point. Daryl was unbearably hot, he was positive now that he saw heat waves in the room.

A creak came from upstairs and Beth's eyes widened. Out of the corner of his eye, Daryl noted that faint flames curled around the drapes and licked up from cracks beneath the floorboards.

"Okay, you really have to go" she said quickly, darting across the room to peck him on the cheek and scamper halfway up the stairs. He was suddenly painfully aware that the house around them was completely on fire.

"Beth. Come back here, we have to leave here now" he said, trying to be stern but sounding more scared and desperate.

"Leave?" her expression bemused and playful, as flames curled around her and swallowed her, "Leave, and go where?"

Daryl reached out to grab for her, but she turned and disappeared up the stairs. His skin singed and peeled before his eyes. He smelled his own hair smoldering and the distinct, disturbingly sweet smell of burning flesh. He gasped in extreme pain and turned towards the door. Daryl moved slowly and with great difficulty as he made his way to the door. Each movement was excruciating. His body felt like it was coming apart at the joints. When he finally found the door through the bright, hellish flames he fumbled with the white hot knob and pulled it open with all his strength. A vacuum of cold meeting hot yanked him out the door and he fell out onto the porch, his vision leaving him as he felt one last shock of pain.

Ice

Somehow, Daryl went from falling to his knees to stumbling off the porch through blurry eyes. It felt almost as though his skin audibly hissed as cold rain hit him. The drastic change in temperature made his head whirl, he saw bright white halos around his vision. He tried to steady himself and failed, he went back to his knees.

A violent tremoring wracked his body, Daryl was so unbearably cold. He tried to draw air into his lungs but found it to be made of ice shards. He coughed as the air bit through his throat. It felt as though his chest had been filled with spun glass. A terror gripped him, he felt starved of air.

"Shh, it's okay, I'm here" Beth's voice cooed softly, somewhere near Daryl's ear. He felt cold blankets bunch up around him as a warm body pressed itself against him. He attempted to focus himself towards the heat, trying to harvest it and collect it within. The shaking slowed but refused to stop.

"No, no, come on. Push through it, Daryl, please. Fight it" Beth said, an edge of fear to her voice. She hugged herself tightly to him, he felt a channeled need radiate to his icy form.

Daryl's vision began to clear and solidify. He found he was staring down into the tumultuous, chaotic surface of standing water receiving rain. He realized he was kneeling in a mud puddle he'd fallen into. The shallow water pooled at his knees, his hands buried into the cold and squishy mud. Between the torrent above and the puddle below, Daryl was drenched to the bone with ice water. The night was pitch black and heavy, the sound of the downpour drowning out all other sounds.

A clear and insidious thought wound its way up to Daryl from the mud seeping beneath his fists. This was as good a place as any to lie down and stop. His joints felt calcified and cemented in place, his muscles tightly wrought over frozen bones, and his skin wound even tighter and pulled taut over it all. To move would destroy him, he just knew that if he tried to stand again he'd shatter completely. Underneath everything, the cold, the rain, and the night, Daryl felt an even more terrifying pang deep within himself. He felt as though something wasn't right with his insides, as though his inner machinations were rusting to a halt.

He was decaying, and he was dying.

At least, he was afraid he was. The rain kept up its onslaught and hit his back and head relentlessly, funneling off his downturned face to become a part of the mud puddle. It would be so easy to just join the rain and let it guide him down to rest in the mud. Despite this, he just couldn't release the strength in his forearms and knees.

Daryl slowly became aware of a new development to his situation. It occurred to him that the mud beneath his fingers shifted and sieved away from his spread fingers. He concentrated idly on this sensation, and felt a shock of surprise as warm fingers curled upwards from below the mire and thrust themselves between his own. It should have been horrifying but Daryl felt the echo of some distant feeling of calm flow up to him from the fingers.

The hands within the mud continued to move upward, displacing Daryl and thrusting him slightly up and away from the puddle's surface. The force pushed him from kneeling to a position of sitting on his haunches.

He watched in bizarre and silent fascination as his eyes adjusted enough to make out the detail of his hands beneath the water's surface. The other fingers interlocked with his and his eyes traced the hands to their forearms to a barely visible face.

Below the shifting and cracking surface of the rain on the puddle, Daryl saw the tendrils of blonde hair billow. Beth's eyes blinked slowly and fixed themselves of Daryl's. The borders of her face rippled and displaced constantly but Daryl could read her lips clearly.

"Move. Now. You have to move" she instructed.

And he did.

Without fully comprehending it, Daryl released the hands and pushed himself out of the water. He stood. He wavered some but not as much as before, he was dizzy but he was not unstable anymore. Daryl was still freezing cold but something warm and mentally tangible had burrowed itself down inside him. It was something he had to protect, something that he was able to focus on that negated the once overwhelming significance of numb stiffness that his body felt. He had no idea what this new thing was but it revitalized him somehow. Above all else, Daryl felt driven to get it inside and out of the rain and cold.

He scanned the perimeter of the yard, squinting through the rain. He was outside of the funeral home and noted blurs of gravestones doting the ground. Something caught his eye that he had never placed before: a windowless small shack buried almost out of sight near the mouth of the forest. Daryl squared his shoulders and headed briskly towards it, navigating through thick patches of mud and partially submerged headstones.

Closer up, the shack looked less abandoned. It seemed as if someone else had been there recently. Something told Daryl that someone might still be there, and he felt a reluctance to approach the door. Instead, he went around the side of the shack, lee of the rain. Daryl crouched down and pressed his back up against the shack, pulling his knees to his chest. Now completely out of the rain, he sighed and wrapped his arms around his knees. He felt a semblance of warmth within himself and he relished the feeling. After almost giving up on his own life, small things were important. It didn't matter that he was uncomfortably soaked and dirty, he was alive.

As things tended lately to completely defy logic, it didn't surprise Daryl much to see Beth sneak gingerly around the back of the shack and tiptoe over to where he sat. Being wary of the onslaught of rain, she carefully lowered herself to the ground, taking care to sit on the patch of dry ground next to him. He looked her up and down. She was almost entirely dry, save a layer of raindrops on an oversized men's rain jacket she wore. Idly, he wondered if it was Herschel's, or maybe Mike's. Regardless she looked nothing like someone that had recently emerged from the ground through a mud puddle like some bizarre pseudo-siren.

"Do you ever wonder what they do when it rains like this?" she asked him, failing to preface her thought at all.

"Who?" he asked.

"The walkers. I mean, you see them with a slight rain, or a drizzle. But have you ever seen them wandering in a downpour like this?" she mused, looking out at the rain.

Daryl shifted his weight and released his legs. He almost felt normal again. "Can't say I have, I reckon"

"I wonder if they take shelter, if they find being soaking wet annoying" she said, smirking softly.

Daryl shrugged. A sound of shuffling and moving inside the shack distracted him. He still felt unsettled by it for some reason. He found himself hoping the door to the shack wouldn't open. Listening intently, he tried to imagine what movement was occurring behind the wall. It sounded like someone shuffling around, a clink of glass on glass vaguely audible. Someone picking things up and moving them. Despite how wary and guarded he was, Daryl suddenly found himself extremely sleepy. Against his better judgment he pushed himself into a semi-lying position, his eyes heavy-lidded and his blinking slow.

Beth continued staring out across the field, seemingly oblivious both to Daryl's fatigue and the activity in the shack. "That'd be interesting, if they got annoyed. Really if they feel anything at all. I wonder if they have any sense of self, or perseverance"

He was half-asleep. He couldn't focus on much anymore. Beth was warm next to him and the patter of the rain was lulling him. Daryl fell into a deep sleep, and the door to the shack swung open.


	8. Chapter 8

AN: I'm terribly sorry for the extremely long hiatus. I do want to finish this though, and I honestly missed writing this. I'll try to finish it up soon. But if I do disappear again, I'll be back eventually. Thank you for the reviews and follows. They really do matter to me. ㈴2

Light

Somewhere in the distance, windchimes rustled slightly lulling Daryl back to the forefront of his consciousness. The first thing he noticed was that he no longer felt the familiar hardness of the table beneath him. Instead, he felt a softness beneath him that felt more like a bed. His eyes felt glued together and he fought to open them. Bright light rushed in to meet his sore eyes, lighting up a dull headache in the back of his skull. He wiggled his fingers and shifted his body weight in the bed. As he became accustomed to the blinding light, his vision focused and his surroundings dawned and fleshed themselves out. Daryl noted that he seemed to be lying in the makeshift bedroom that Beth had created. He found that he could move himself slightly, and he repositioned himself to a sitting position. His leg met his efforts with angry, sharp protests of pain but he thought idly that it seemed somewhat better than before.

As he sat up, Daryl noticed that he was not alone in the room. Sitting on a chair facing out toward the window of the room sat an unwelcome but familiar sight.

"Well, now. Look who's back. You've given us all quite a scare there, baby brother. Didn't know if we'd be seeing you again" Merle said with a smirk. He sat whittling something with a knife.

"I'm thirsty" Daryl managed.

Meryl stopped whittling and looked up to scan the room. He stood and walked over to stand at Daryl's bedside, handing him a jug of water from the nightstand. Daryl has long since stopped questioning the capabilities of his hallucinations. The fact that his ghost-brother handed him water was beyond Daryl's understanding. He just accepted it and drank greedily.

"Damn, you ain't lying. Can't say much though. Reckon I'd be about to thirst to death too if I slept half as much as you have lately" Meryl remarked.

When half the jug was gone and Daryl felt a slight pang of nausea, he stopped and recapped the jug. "Where's Beth?" he asked.

"Couldn't say. I don't really venture too far from you. Gotta look out for my kin and all that. She sure has put a lot of effort in you though, boy" Merle said. He turned and walked back over to his chair, reclaiming his post and taking his whittling back up.

"Shouldn't have. Should've moved on" Daryl said. His leg was fully awake now and throbbing constantly. His newfound clarity was foreign and alien to him, and he took the time to survey his own body. He noted that he had a bandage on his forearm from what he assumed was where Beth had been putting fluid into him. Pushing back the covers, he braced himself to survey the damage to his thigh. He couldn't see much; the area was thickly wrapped in gauze, but he did notice that the flesh seemed hard and warm. A brighter, more vivid jolt of pain leapt up at him as he pressed. Daryl winced and let out a sigh. His head hurt. His body felt like it like it was lined with lead. He noticed he needed to piss like a race horse. Grabbing the jug, he uncapped and finished the rest off before using the empty jug to relieve himself.

"Who gives a shit about the details. She did. You're here, and that's all I care about. Fuck knows, hopefully whatever that was knocked some damned sense in you. Running around out there half-starving with all your angst-ridden bullshit, you got real careless and came damned close to dying. And you'd have deserved it. The hell were you thinking, stomping around like a pissed off teenager?" Merle demanded.

Daryl smiled sickly and lolled his head, "I don't know, man. Maybe because I'm losing my fucking mind? What do you want me to say? I mean, I'm talking to my dead brother. I raped a girl. Drinking anything and everything I can get my hands on. Every time I close my eyes, I have vivid fucked-up dreams, some of which I don't even have any rhyme or reason for. I don't know, take your pick"

"You're thinking too damned much" Merle answered.

"Whatever you want to call it" Daryl resigned. He slunk back down in the bed, moving himself back to a laying position. The water had sunken itself heavily on Daryl's empty stomach. Despite being hungry, he found himself being lulled by a false sense of satiety.

Across the room, he noticed Merle stand and walk back towards him. "Yeah, that'll help. You go ahead and get yourself some more beauty sleep" he said sardonically. Daryl ignored him. He was tired. He couldn't be bothered to care.

Dark

As night gathered, Daryl stood on some nameless balcony in some nameless town. Absentmindedly, he lit a cigarette from a pack and studied the horizon around him. He couldn't place where he was. It seemed to be some city. Cars passed beneath him on a busy road, surrounded by other buildings of equal or greater height than the hotel he was in. None of the signage on the buildings made any sense, and the more he thought about it Daryl realized the writing he did see didn't seem to spell out any words at all. Given the level of detail he'd experienced recently, this newfound ambiguity seemed disconcerting.

"It's all breaking down, you know. It's in us and our blood, and you're not carrying just yours anymore" came a voice from behind him.

Daryl turned to look behind him, and noticed a petite girl opening the glass sliding door and pushing her way out to the balcony. She had long auburn hair and a gaunt frame. The girl shivered as she stepped out onto the balcony, partly due to the level of wind out on the high balcony and partly since she wore only a thin tank top and skimpy underwear.

"What did you say?" he asked, taking another long drag off his cigarette.

The unnamed girl took the cigarette from him and took a drag of her own. "I said, I'm coming down. It's for us both, you're not carrying just for you, doll"

Daryl weighed this in his mind and realized he felt rather achy and lethargic. He studied the girl more closely but still couldn't quite place her.

The girl blinked at him and scratched at her neck. With more frustration, she said, "It'd be real nice if you'd come in and shoot me back up, Daryl. It's been a while and I'm coming down"

"Oh. Yeah, sure" he said blankly.

Without offering it back to him, the girl finished off the cigarette and tossed it over the side of the balcony. She clapped her hands together and pointed towards the balcony door. "Now, please. I need it babe"

Numbly, Daryl followed the girl back through the door and into a dark, nondescript hotel room. On the periphery of his awareness, he began to fill in the blanks of his comprehension. A messy king-sized bed sat before a television that droned quietly and filled the dismal little room with a faint light. Over in the corner of the room, scattered needles and vials sat. The girl led him over to the table and gestured before lying back on the bed. Using muscle memory Daryl went about preparing shots. After he finished, he sat on the edge of the bed.

The girl bounced up and craned her neck towards Daryl. "Me first," she insisted. In the faint, electric light of the room, Daryl noticed that the girl was not only gaunt, she was emaciated. Her arms were riddled with scars and blemishes. As he inspected her, he couldn't be sure if she was offering her neck for preference or for necessity. His bets were on the latter. After some maneuvering, Daryl found a decent vein and pressed down to isolate it. The girl seemed animated for the first time since getting him from the balcony. She buzzed with anticipation as he went about injecting her. Once he was done, the girl mewled as her eyes rolled. Curling her toes and sighing contentedly, she fell back to lie on the bed. Daryl then went about finding and shooting himself up.

As the drug coursed through him, Daryl felt the old familiar warmth spread throughout his body. Following the girl's example, he laid back on the bed next to her. The haze set in on his brain and Daryl stared blankly at the ceiling. Something sad and cold refused to warm up to the light traveling through him. Sighing, he recalled how often he shot up lately and how limiting his ecstasy seemed to be anymore. His thoughts spread out and dispersed themselves throughout the room. It didn't seem as though his pain dissipated like it used to; it seemed more like it just stretched out and moved a foot or two away from him, ducking under furniture and slipping into shadows. It felt like it a tranquilized snake, sitting within striking range and waiting to reemerge.

"I love you" the girl spoke softly next to him, her voice shrill and childlike. She giggled and rolled towards him. Daryl shifted slightly and allowed her to bury her face in his chest. He didn't know her name, couldn't say how long they'd been together in this suffocating hotel room.

"Mmhm" Daryl replied noncommittally. She didn't seem to notice, or care. He didn't feel like it mattered anyhow. She didn't love him and he didn't love her. Small flecks of memory meandered their way back to Daryl. Her name was Cloe. She was a cocktail waitress. Was or is, he didn't know or care. They'd met a few weeks back when he and Merle were running something along the border. The two brothers had temporarily separated while Merle settled some business in the next state over. Daryl had decided to lay low with the girl in the meantime, until his brother came back by and they moved on to whatever was next.

"Let's go out tonight, babe. I'm off work" Cloe said.

"Yeah, okay" Daryl answered.

The girl tossed her hair, rolled onto her stomach, and leaned up on her elbows, looking Daryl in the face. He watched as she playfully bounced her feet and chewed a piece of her hair. Something about how this fraught, fragile girl reveled in her synthetic happiness gnawed at Daryl's insides. He didn't think she'd used for long, the honeymoon wasn't over. He guessed Cloe had been at it long enough to burn up several of her more distal veins, but not long enough to be as burnt out as he was. Her glazed eyes and saccharine voice curdled his blood and gave him a distant feeling of nausea. Or maybe that was the heroin. Either way, he felt off.

"What are you thinking, Daryl?" she asked, busying herself with tracing the outlines of his tattoos.

 _I guess about how I'm ready to be dead. Or maybe how ten minutes ago I thought maybe I ought to jump from the balcony. Or it could be how your high makes me sick. Could even be how I guess I just don't care at all,_ Daryl mused _._

"Just wondering how long Merle will be. Didn't give me a definite timeframe" Daryl said.

Her face dimmed a bit, but she recovered quickly. "I don't want you to go. Maybe I could go with you?"

Daryl had to restrain himself from smirking _. Bless her heart_ , he thought. Still, he knew she'd probably forget his answer regardless. "We could see, yeah"

She kissed his chest and laid her head back down, nuzzling closer to him and sighing happily. Daryl wondered how much longer he could keep things up. He didn't get how things didn't seem to be as hard on Merle. He could run through drugs, put them down, walk away, come back to them, it didn't matter to him. Things felt thinned and heavy for Daryl. He knew he didn't want to continue living like he did, but didn't know how else to live.

"What do you think they see?" the girl asked him, her voice suddenly changed.

Daryl tensed some, startled by this change and pulled abruptly from his self-depreciating reverie. "What do you mean?" he asked.

Propping herself up on her elbows, Beth looked Daryl in the eye, "The walkers. Objectively, they seem to have vision. But what do you think it is they see when they look?"

"I don't think they think about it at all, honestly"

Beth smiled softly. "No, I don't think it's that simple. There's something there. Maybe it's only like a predator looking at its prey, but I think that there is thought there"

"Maybe. But why does that matter?" Daryl asked.

Beth leaned towards Daryl, moving her lips to beside his right ear. She whispered to him, her voice quiet and sad, "We've got the same blood, Daryl"


End file.
